


When Will My Life Begin?

by ProtoChan



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, Disney References, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Fair Game Week (RWBY), Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Happy Ending, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Kidnapping, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Semblance (RWBY), Tangled (2010) References, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 58,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoChan/pseuds/ProtoChan
Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 315
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It’s finally here -- my Tangled AU!!!! While it’s a bit shorter than I anticipated, I am so happy to finally present you with the first chapter, and hopefully, there will be many more to follow very soon!!!!

This...is the story of how I died.

Don’t worry, this is actually a very fun story.

And the truth is, it isn’t even mine.

This is the story of a man named Clover.

And it starts with semblances.

Semblances, for those of you not in the know, are abilities that each and every individual in Remnant has. They can make you go faster, shiftshape, and all sorts of other things -- they can even manifest and activate without the person thinking about it.

For the forces of good who work to make Remnant a haven for all, semblances can be a real blessing.

But that’s the thing about good forces. They can’t exist unless there’s something they need to be good against. And what the kingdom of Remnant was against was itself against the very essence of goodness itself.

Salem was a witch bathed in darkness. Her semblance gave her the ability to conjure up and control armies of these things called Grimm. 

What are Grimm, you may ask?

Imagine animals, and then imagine what they’d look like if they somehow survived a volcanic eruption, a typhoon, and an earthquake all at the same time.

Yeah, those are Grimm.

And Grimm don’t like humans.

Neither did Salem.

Salem’s attempts to defeat the kingdom of Remnant with her army of monstrous Grimm, while never successful, also never stopped coming. Even if it looked like things were calm, folks in Remnant always knew Salem was plotting her next attack in the shadows.

Okay, I know, I know, I’m getting off topic here. This story’s about Clover.

Trust me -- I’m getting to him.

Remnant had a general -- one high in renown -- and he had a family. This family wasn’t one unified by blood, but was grafted together like a tree.

General Ironwood had adopted four little children, and was ready to add yet another to the family -- an infant whose parents were stolen from him by the cruelties of an apathetic, yet powerful fire. But against all odds, the child was spared. And so Ironwood did the only kindness to this child he could think of -- adopting him into his family.

That baby...was Clover.

On the day Clover entered the general’s home, and for all the days that followed, it became clear that luck was to the child in much the same as breathing was to you and me. Surrounded by his new father and siblings and the love they birthed inside of him, Clover seemed to make improbabilities of fortune the norm wherever he went. Lost pets returned to neighbors, supplies for shops arrived earlier than expected just as they were most needed, potted plants came back to life -- every day brought some kind of new miracle to those Clover interacted with.

It was only a matter of weeks until specialists confirmed what Ironwood had started to suspect.

The child’s...Clover’s semblance...was good luck -- a luck that imprinted itself on those that Clover loved. And while it of course couldn’t be counted on just on its own to ensure changes, in its existence lived the possibility of incredible triumphs for their fair land.

When Clover’s semblance was announced to the people of Remnant, the kingdom rejoiced, hoping to be blessed by Clover’s good luck and prosper for many years to come.

To celebrate his semblance, General Ironwood and Clover’s brothers and sisters released green floating lanterns with clover-shaped insignias into the sky on Clover’s birthday, and Clover himself was gifted with an emerald encrusted clover-shaped brooch. 

...It was something his oldest sister Harriet shortly after suggested that he might be too young to really appreciate, so Ironwood decided to hold onto it until later on.

After all, they were all a family now, a family with a lifetime’s worth of memories to look forward to making.

For that one moment, everything was perfect.

And then that moment ended.

You see, whereas the good people of the kingdom saw naught but opportunities in Clover’s semblance to better their kingdom, Salem’s group of miscreants saw the semblance as nothing but a danger to their mission to destroy it.

And one of Salem’s cronies wanted to do something about that.

Tyrian Callows was worse than a snake in the grass -- he was a scorpion in the grass. Born with a venomous stinger for a tail and a personality even more toxic than that -- well, let’s just say he didn’t really fit in with the people of Remnant.

But when people don’t fit in with those Remnant, they sometimes find that they do fit in with Salem.

Tyrian worshipped Salem from the second she first acknowledged his pitiful existence. Whereas many of Salem’s forces needed to be courted by her at least a little, Tyrian threw himself into his services for her after just one conversation.

The only problem with Tyrian’s little obsession was that he had competitors for Salem’s affections and attention -- her litany of other supporters. Unfortunately for Tyrian, he was about as on good terms with Salem’s other goons as he was with just about anyone in Remnant, so if he wanted to get closer to Salem, he’d need to do it on his own.

And with Clover’s new semblance on display for all, and optimism pouring into the kingdom like water out of a freshly-filled pitcher, Salem’s good graces were harder and harder to get into by the day.

Yes, Tyrian, it seemed was out of luck.

But then, he realized something -- there was a surefire way to change that.

Not two weeks after Clover’s semblance was revealed, something happened that would swerve Remnant’s destiny into a dark territory no one in the kingdom could ever have expected it to fall into. 

It was a cold, windy night when Tyrian struck General Ironwood’s home. Clover’s room was perched on the top floor of the house -- three stories up -- but Tyrian’s tail was more than up to the task. 

When Tyrian approached the darkened room, only given life by the soft sounds of Clover’s snores, he could tell that the theft was almost too easy.

And it was.

By the time General Ironwood was woken by a wooden plank destroyed during the escape, it was too late.

Tyrian, as well as his precious son, were gone.

Cries escaped from the now broken apart family as realizations struck the five of them that their son and brother had disappeared.

Soldiers ran into the nearest woods as far as just about anyone could to search for Clover’s kidnapper, but to no avail.

As Tyrian continued to run away from the kingdom’s guards, he discovered something. Clover and the implications of his existence gave Tyrian more than just a victory -- he gave him a choice. While his original plan was simply to take Clover and bring him to Salem to do what she wished from there, happily taking the bit of goodwill the kidnapping would grant him, another option arose, one Tyrian decided was well worth investing in.

Years ago, long before Tyrian first laid eyes upon Salem, he found an old and deserted tower, masked well by the surrounding forest, and far enough from all as to never be found.

This tower had been Tyrian’s home for some time, and after that night, it would house another.

Yes, the newly self-appointed “Uncle Tyrian” would raise Clover, and take all the luck he was provided by Clover’s love all for himself.

So he did. 

Tyrian hid the truth, carefully painting a narrative for Clover of a hostile world that only wanted to take advantage of him for his semblance, and the tower he was confined to as the sole safe haven from the evils of man -- a final gift from his late father that was by his plea never to be left by Clover.

And Clover, under the guise of living in a loving home, believed him.

But the walls of that tower couldn’t hide everything. 

Each and every year, on his birthday, General Ironwood and his children continued to release those very green lanterns that once celebrated Clover into the sky, and the people of the kingdom -- by the thousands -- joined them in solidarity, hoping one day that their efforts would bring the lost child home. 

While afraid of the world, Clover, as drawn to the windows that led to the world outside his tower as a fly to a pot of honey, gazed at them each and every year on his birthday from the tower’s sole window. As those lanterns lit up Clover’s lonely world, they inspired something in him, something stronger than all the fear of the outside world his “uncle” could ever hope to instill in him -- a dream to one day see them up close for himself and discover their hidden meaning.

And on Clover’s twenty-first birthday, he finally would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!!!! Thank you all for the comments and support for Chapter 1!!!! I am having so much fun writing this fic, and I hope this chapter makes you just as happy as the last one did! It's certainly longer! XD They probably won't be this long for a while, but there was a lot of metaphorical (Not to mention, literal) housekeeping to do here! With any luck, I made it a fun enough read!

Clover Callows found there were merits in having and maintaining a routine.

Routines provided stability, a means for developing skills, an ideal backdrop for daydreaming, something with a clear foundation to fall back on in the face of uncertainty or hopelessness, and countless other benefits.

And when one spent their life confined to a tower like he did, those merits simply could not be understated.

Clover’s routine started at roughly seven in the morning, as he rose from his feathery mattress to a powerful beam of sunlight, the same way he had done so for as long as he could remember.

Such an early wakeup time was something of a double edged sword. 

When one only had so much space and only so any things to do from within it, an early start to what could likely be a lengthy day could be seen as annoying, especially as one’s body demanded less and less sleep from them over the years. Clover could admit to feeling that way occasionally, but the matter couldn’t be helped. At that time in the morning, the sun hit his tower’s window in a way that engorged the tower’s entire interior in its light. Though he’d tried to cloak the light with some curtains he’d all but begged for, they weren’t strong enough to do more than make the beams just a bit less severe, an improvement so minor that he removed the curtains completely after the first week. 

Oh well. He supposed no routine was without its drawbacks.

But honestly, Clover preferred to take a more optimistic approach to things, and did like getting up at that time for more reasons than he didn’t.

So really, that wakeup time was more of a blessing than anything. 

Clover supposed that given his semblance, that shouldn’t have been much of a surprise.

For one thing, Clover was a tried and true morning person, so a start like this ensured that he’d always start his day on the right foot. After all, what was the point of a routine without the energy needed to see it through?

For another, Clover found he could make far better use of his time with the sun’s light than he often could with the night’s darkness. He liked making candles, but he also liked having visible space to work with as he went about his day without the risk of losing it to a stray bellow of wind. 

And finally -- not to mention, most importantly to Clover -- getting up as early as he did meant that he had a full hour to prepare breakfast for himself and his uncle. 

Yes, one of the highlights of Clover’s morning routine came at the very start of it. At the same time everyday, Clover’s Uncle Tyrian would make a point to check up on him before leaving for work. And if Clover made breakfast for them, he’d stay for a bit longer and eat. If it wasn’t, he’d leave right after his morning check up to go get some himself, commiserating on how he wished they’d have more time together.

Needless to say, Clover got very good at making sure breakfast was on the table by eight in the morning without fail very quickly.

It was a pleasure to do it, really. Despite his uncle’s disdain for outsiders, he still associated with them every single day, risking life and limb, just to provide for Clover. The least Clover felt he could do was make sure he came home to delicious meals and a good attitude, and luckily for Clover, he was quite good at both.

The recipes for their morning bread rolls were all but second nature to him, and in less than fifteen minutes, they were in the oven baking. Clover had gone for a sweeter type of roll today -- brown sugar and cinnamon lovingly kneaded into the dough. The spices would balance well against the spread and tea he’d planned to serve.

Yes, it would be delicious -- of that Clover had no doubt.

“This might be my best breakfast yet,” Clover said to himself.

But suddenly, another voice made itself known through a loud, abrasive squawk.

Without looking at the culprit of the bit of noise, Clover smirked.

He knew that tone, and he knew it well.

Really, she was too much sometimes.

Fortunately, in a situation like his, ‘too much’ was actually perfect for him.

“Didn’t realize you were up,” Clover said, unable to keep the chuckle out of his voice as he spoke. “Good morning, Raven.”

An indignant squawk that Clover could’ve guessed was coming from a mile away followed, but that only allowed for Clover’s chuckle to evolve into a full grown laugh.

“Don’t worry,” Clover assured, walking over to his tower's spare set of blankets. “I made a roll for you too.” 

Raven released another squawk as she tottered out from her spot within the blankets, as if to say ‘you better have.’

And while her language was different than his own, he had no trouble understanding that.

“Don’t I always?” he asked, a good natured tone in his voice. After kneeling by her side, Clover gently scratched Raven behind her feather-claden neck with his index finger, just the way he knew she liked it.

While Raven didn’t answer his inquiry vocally, she did lean her head closer to his hand, and that was good enough for the both of them. It always was.

After all, outside of Clover’s uncle, they were all each other had.

Clover would never forget the day Raven came into his life. 

Wildlife was one of the few spontaneous bits of entertainment life treated Clover to, but the problem was often that it was too hard, if not downright impossible, for him to see most any of it. The tower was tall, and from all the way up, things just blended too well into the tapestries that were tall grass and clear water below. 

All the squinting in the world could only do so much from forty feet high.

Birds were a different story though. Clover could see them clearly enough as they and their bold colors soared on by against the light sky, and because they did it fairly often, he found himself whiling away many an hour watching them explore a world that was just a small piece for them, but all he ever knew. 

That said, the birds that passed the tower’s vicinity almost never flew close enough to the tower so that Clover could interact with them up close, though not for lack of trying. Clover left crumbs from breakfast on his windowsill, practiced bird calls, and even tried to ask his uncle for a birdhouse he could place outside, but nothing worked. 

Still, he had something to enjoy, however far away it was, and he couldn’t be all that upset about that.

Clover and Raven’s meeting happened when Clover was twelve, on what would’ve otherwise been a rather ordinary day.

A twelve year old Clover was looking outside his tower’s window, watching a darkly-colored bird -- who he’d soon come to call ‘Raven’ -- make a graceful lap around his tower after swooping up from a tree. He could see that Raven had something that looked like a worm in her beak, and Clover found himself playfully musing over a reality where he had to eat worms to survive, though he was pretty sure he’d prefer his loaves of bread over that.

Raven had landed just over the brim of the tower’s roof to enjoy her snack. Though Clover knew he could probably get a nice view of her and her feast if he just popped his head out the window, he opted not to interfere with his visitor’s lunch. He didn’t want to scare her off. Instead, he considered grabbing some remnants of his breakfast to try to lure her to his window after she was done with her worm.

But before he could think on that for more than a second, another bird -- a hawk, if Clover was correct -- swooped up, passing Clover’s window completely in favor of the brim of the roof. 

Squawks burst out between the two birds on the roof. Clover, no longer deterred by the threat of rudeness, poked his head through the window to make out what he could of what was clearly a scuffle going on above his tower. 

Raven stubbornly clung to her worm, but that came at the cost of her defenses and agility, giving the hawk an almost unfair advantage.

That advantage came to a head when the hawk grabbed one of Raven’s wings and tugged it with all its might.

Just a few pulls was all it took. Raven dropped the worm, squawking in agony. Even though it was faint, Clover could hear the sound of wings snapping and crunching from above him.

A final push from the hawk sent Raven tumbling off the roof...or it would have, had Clover not caught her. 

Clover shooed the hawk away and brought Raven into the tower to better examine her. Raven’s wing had been severed and beaten, quite possibly beyond repair. She wouldn’t die, but she would also never fly again, and Clover knew that even if his semblance played a role in saving her life, one look at her wing told him that even all the good luck in the world couldn’t change that.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t take care of her and try to give her a good life.

And that he did, and in that tower she stayed.

Raven was kept a secret from Uncle Tyrian. In the past Clover had voiced to him desires to see birds up close and to even build a birdhouse in his window, but Uncle Tyrian was quick to say no to those requests. He labeled birds as nothing more than vectors of disease that Clover would be far better off staying away from. There were few orders and suggestions from his uncle that Clover didn’t obey, but given Raven’s condition, he made an exception. While his uncle was loving, he was also incredibly strict, and Clover couldn’t risk Raven’s safety on the off chance he’d be willing to bend a rule for them.

So, Raven made a hidden nest within a spare set of blankets on the far side of the tower, and that became her home until this very day. Raven had overnight become Clover’s closest -- or rather, only -- friend and confidant, and though Raven wasn’t one to be sentimental, she’d shown her hand on more than one occasion that she felt the same way about him. 

What they shared was special, and Clover wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Clover stood up and placed Raven on his shoulder, all the while still scratching her neck. He walked over to a wall where he had placed the set of curtains that failed to shield him from the early morning sunlight, and drew them back.

Life in the tower gave way to many hobbies and one of those was artwork. With an entire tower to serve as a canvass, Clover let his creativity soar, and soar it did. Images of the sea and fish he found in books prompted Clover to patch much of the tower’s lower interior with various shades of blue, green, and black. Raven herself, for as anonymous as her existence in the tower was to Uncle Tyrian, blended in well as one of dozens of birds painted alongside the tower’s upper interior, with more added in by the day. His love of cooking roused a desire to paint images of bread, eggs, milk, and chickens in the kitchen’s crevices. 

But Clover’s favorite piece of his wasn’t one of the sea, nor birds, nor food.

No, Clover's favorite piece laid in secret behind those curtains, a simple image of a young man staring lovingly as big green lights slowly, but surely approached him.

“I’m going to do it today, Raven,” Clover said, though it was more to himself than to her. “I’m finally going to ask him.”

Raven didn’t respond to him, but simply leaned her head more on Clover’s hand. He scratched her for another few moments, thinking of the undertaking he just gave his word on.

What Clover was going to ask his uncle today was by no means a trifle -- not for the man that his uncle was. No, this would push every barrier that had ever been established for him since the day his father left this world and his uncle took him to this tower to live.

But if he didn’t ask now, he’d have to wait a whole year to ask again, and the thought of waiting just another hour, let alone another year made Clover’s skin crawl with yearning.

Tomorrow was his twenty-first birthday, and just as was the case on each of Clover’s birthdays before, beautiful green lights would illuminate the sky that night. As if that were not interesting enough, this marvel happened only on his birthday, not off by a single day for as far back as he could remember.

For twenty-one years, those lights did all manner of things to Clover. They inspired his imagination with thoughts of what lights could possibly look like, lead Clover to take an interest in astrology so he could try to understand their existence, gave Clover hope and motivation to stay optimistic on his darkest days, and most of all, they felt like a sign -- one that there was something beyond this tower meant for him and that the world might not be as terrible as his uncle claimed it to be. It wasn’t that Clover didn’t trust his uncle -- he did. He knew his uncle’s advice came from a place of love as well as experience, and had thus followed his words of wisdom almost to the letter. However, something in those lights screamed at Clover that maybe those words didn’t reflect the full picture of the world, and Clover couldn’t help but believe them.

But, for all the good the presence of those emerald-colored lights produced for Clover, they also taunted him every single year with their distance. While Clover could always see them with ease, he could also tell that their source was miles away, and a desire to see that source beckoned him like nothing else in this world ever had.

He could do this.

He was going to do this.

He had to do this, if for no other reason than his own sanity.

If his lucky semblance was to ever work for his benefit, he willed it to be this time.

Clover took a deep breath, his resolve now reinforced. 

“Well,” he said, smiling, “we’ve got about 40 minutes until Uncle Tyrian arrives, and 20 minutes until the bread’s done. Should we start our usual routine while we wait?”

A lazy, sarcastic squawk answered his proposition, an answer to which Clover playfully rolled his eyes at, never once losing his smile.

“That’s the spirit!” he returned, once more chuckling as he walked over to his sink and then closet to get ready for the day. 

Once washed up and dressed, Clover grabbed his trusty fishing rod Kingfisher, marveling at how it shined in the glimmer of the sun’s light. If it ever touched the sea, it would nab quite the beautiful catches, but Clover found that it served plenty of purposes alone just staying by his side here.

Across Uncle Tyrian’s many stories about the world beyond this tower, Clover learned that most everyone outside had a weapon for attacking each other, so Clover took it upon himself to make sure he had one too. Uncle Tyrian didn’t approve of the idea at first, but it was one of the few debates between them over the course of Clover’s life that Clover actually won. After all, if it stood to reason that Clover was in this tower for his own protection, he should have a weapon to protect himself just in case someone came for him and his uncle was at work. Uncle Tyrian certainly couldn’t find an objection to that -- though Clover could tell he tried. So, Uncle Tyrian provided him with some basic supplies and metal scraps he was able to scrounge together, and left Clover to it to create a weapon. After weeks and weeks of work, fighting through burns and cuts as he toiled over metal and fire alike, Kingfisher was born.

Clover was proud of the weapon he ended up with. A fishing rod was an unorthodox choice, he would admit, but that’s part of what he found made Kingfisher so cool. Among other things, it was like a weapon only he knew how to use and had such a strange means of attacking that no one would ever see his moves coming. Clover had spent the years following Kingfisher’s creation honing every skill needed to handle its every function, and if there was such a thing as a master of weapons in the outside world, he would be without a doubt the undisputed master of fishing rods.

But in the meantime, until a moment came to pass where Kingfisher would ever need to be used as a weapon, Clover made sure that he could find other purposes for it and its many features.

With one swift motion, Clover cast Kingfisher’s hook to the other side of the tower, where his broom laid in wait for its own role in Clover’s daily routine, and reeled it back in so the broom landed in his other hand. Then with another motion, one just as swift, Clover cast Kingfisher behind his back, smirking as he heard the same satisfying clink that serenaded his ears for so long. He twisted his body, and the hook, latched onto a duster, swept across the shelves that were behind him and caused today’s dust to fall to the floor in a semi-messy row, one which Clover and his broom made quick work of clearing while Raven used her back as leverage for the dustpan at the end of it.

After finishing that and cleaning up some leftover work, and emptying the dustpan outside the window, Clover took a whiff of the bread rolls and without so much as a glimpse at the clock, determined he still had seven minutes until it needed to be taken out.

Seven minutes. That was long enough for him to set the table and do some push ups, while leaving a minute to cool off by the window before it was time to take the bread out.

As was the usual case with his routine, everything was done seamlessly, with no task either disappointing from lack of effort nor not granted enough time. It was all done perfectly, as per his standards, and when the time came to remove the bread from the oven, Clover was neither a second too early or late, and that effort showed in the finished product.

The completed rolls looked just as fluffy as ever, plump and hearty, while also not too thick. It was almost too much to not salivate over the sweet smells of cinnamon and brown sugar that fully pervaded his nostrils. True to his earlier thoughts, he could practically taste how we’ll they’d complement the rest of the meal. 

Yes, this was going to be a great breakfast.

And what a day to knock it out of the park.

As the rolls cooled off, Clover focused his attention on fetching the tea and the apricot jam he’d prepared and got to work on setting up both. 

When the jam was laid out on the table in two neat, tiny bowls and the kettle began boiling their tea’s water, Clover looked back at the painting of himself by the lights, and for a few minutes, he let himself dream just a bit more about a reality where he would get to see them up close.

Maybe that dream would at last come true tomorrow…if he was lucky.

But then again, the lesson Clover had grown to best understand about his semblance throughout his life was that what constituted good luck was nothing if not subjective.

For instance, to live in safety with one’s most beloved family member was undoubtedly good luck. However, spending one’s life restricted to a single tower was...a bit harder to define as such. 

Clover had felt both extremes of his atypical situation before -- it would have been hard not to.

There was so much Clover was grateful for in his life. Between his uncle, Raven, the safety of his home, and even the very semblance that necessitated hiding away from the world in the first place, Clover knew he had no shortage of things to appreciate, and he truly did appreciate them all. For someone whose semblance put his life in so much danger, Clover knew he couldn’t be more secure than he was in this tower. And knowing such safety was a final gift from his parents made it even more special of a home.

It’s not as if he didn’t understand exactly why he stayed up in the tower. A semblance like his was more valuable to men than a king’s crown, and the deaths of his parents very clearly showed just what lengths people in the outside world would go to in order to have that semblance under their control. Uncle Tyrian had told Clover all types of stories of the people who had tried to pay his parents for him as well as the kidnapping attempts he suffered as an infant before the decision was made to move to the tower, and how when their move was caught onto by their fellow villagers, a mob met met his family at their front door. Had it not been for Uncle Tyrian and his father’s quick and selfless thinking, disguising a heap of clothing as a baby to hold while Uncle Tyrian took him to the tower...Clover knew he would have ended up dead in the streets like his parents, if not imprisoned for life by whatever cretin managed to make off with him.

Clover sometimes shuddered to think about what might have been his fate if not for his Uncle Tyrian, and his heart blossomed with love at the thought of all the sacrifices Uncle Tyrian made every day just so Clover could live a life of relative comfort.

To wish for a life outside this tower would be not only dangerous, but also selfish in the face of all his family had sacrificed for him. Clover had tried to stop such thoughts from staying in his mind for too long, and most always succeeded.

However, every so often, a longing for a change of scenery did linger for longer than it should have, long enough for Clover to entertain the thought just a bit. Out in the world, there were dangers aplenty, of that Clover had no doubt. 

But out there was also the sea and fish and flowers and animals and books and-

And the green lights.

There were things Clover wanted to see out in the world, but he’d dismiss each and every one of those desires forever if it meant a chance to see those beautiful green lights up close.

As for whether or not he’d get that chance, well, even with his semblance, it could go either way, and both would make just as much sense as the other.

Going to see the lights that have been so very present in his life and dreams was good luck...but not going and ensuring that he and his uncle would remain unharmed by the outside world was good luck, too, albeit frustratingly so.

Clover just hoped that his semblance would listen to him and only him for once and let the dream he wanted more than anything he thought he was ever capable of wanting come true -- to see the floating lights for himself.

A question of what would happen after that dream was fulfilled was posed in his thoughts, but before Clover could do more than briefly muse on the subject, the tea kettle whistled, taking him out of his musings.

Quickly, he settled the kettle’s cries and placed the hot water in their cups alongside the tea bags so the tea would be nice and strong once Uncle Tyrian arrived. He then sliced the now cooled rolls in neat halves and placed one full roll on either side of the table.

Clover looked at the complete breakfast table. He didn’t consider himself much of a braggart -- though he knew his uncle might disagree with him about that -- but he was quite proud of today’s breakfast.

Raven squawked, and Clover, quite familiar with what she wanted, returned her to her spot by the spare blankets alongside her own miniature roll. Though she was clearly trying to come off as overly tough, all but tweeting ‘it’s about time,’ Clover could see more than a hint of appreciation in her eyes. He gently scratched her head.

“Enjoy,” he said. Judging by how quickly Raven tore into her roll, it looked like she was doing exactly that.

“Clover!” a voice suddenly called, another voice that Clover knew well. 

Uncle Tyrian was here. 

Clover felt his heart racing. 

He was going to do this. 

Could he do this?

Raven’s unmarred wing touched his hand, a rare, but clear method of comfort from her.

Yes, he could do this.

“Thanks, Raven,” he kindly muttered.

Quickly, Clover collected himself, closed the curtains that hid his painting of the lights, and grabbed Kingfisher.

It was showtime, and Clover, now on his way to greet his uncle at the tower’s window, was ready to ask the question that burned on his tongue like a hot coal burned in an oven.

If Uncle Tyrian said yes, he’d be taken on the trip of a lifetime, and finally given the chance to live out his dream.

But if he didn’t…

Clover didn’t want to go down that particular road, but all the same, he knew it was one that needed to be considered.

Well, even if he didn’t...at least Clover still had his routine going for him, he guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question: I made some custom dubs of the Tangled songs for this AU, and I'd like to post them as they happen in the story. Would you guys prefer them to be in this fic or would you prefer a side fic to post them in, as to not distract from the main story?
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, please have a great day!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS OUT-OF-UNIVERSE CHAPTER!!!! 
> 
> Clover lets his heart sing about his daily routine and deepest desire!
> 
> (Remixed lyrics to "When Will My Life Begin?")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi! So, for my Fair Game Tangled AU, I made fun remixes of the songs from the movie with lyrics that relate to the AU itself and the characters’ perspectives. They’re of course not singing in-universe, but Alan Menken’s songs are so integral part of Tangled’s charm that I wanted to include them in here, and this was my compromise. They’re going to be treated as fun out-of-universe bonuses as to not mess with the integrity and tone of the story. 
> 
> If this is something you guys are into, I’d like to do this for all of the songs on the soundtrack! I already developed remixed lyrics for “Mother Knows Best.”
> 
> AND if you feel like jumping over to my Tumblr account, theonceoverthinker, I went an extra step and recorded the number you're about to read! You can find it under the "tangled au songs" tag on my page! Here’s hoping this works out well and I actually sound halfway decent!

_ 7am, the sun’s telling me to wake up _

_ Rise out of bed, scratch my head _

_ Then move on _

_ Plenty to do _

_ Before uncle leaves me all day _

_ Bake our bread _

_ Make a spread _

_ Come on, Raven _

_ We’re not dead _

_ So I will clean the floors _

_ And rid the room of dust _

_ Poke out the tower’s window _

_ To feel the wind’s gust _

_ Then I’ll do some push ups _

_ Exercise is a must _

_ And wonder when will my life begin? _

_ Once I work out, can’t sit and pout _

_ Still lots to do _

_ Sew up new clothes, write some prose _

_ Study trees _

_ Polish my trusty companion _

_ Kingfisher’s hook _

_ Paint the seas, eat some cheese _

_ Climb the walls, stretch my knees _

_ Then I’ll read my few books _

_ Much like I’ve done before _

_ And go over my plans _

_ So I no longer snore _

_ There’s just so many hours _

_ To fill so I won’t bore _

_ And I’ll just face them with a strong grin _

_ But I’m still wondering and wondering  _

_ And wondering and wondering _

_ When will my life begin? _

_ Tomorrow night _

_ The lights will glow _

_ Where do they come from? _

_ I just have to know _

_ On just my birthday, why do they shine? _

_ I can’t help but feel like they are a sign _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of any and every kind are always appreciated, but regardless of whether or not you do, have an awesome day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By some Passover/Easter miracle, this chapter is actually on time!!!! Wahoo!!! I don't know what it was, but this chapter was both super easy and super hard to write!

Qrow Branwen always considered himself to be a...complicated man.

That was the easiest explanation he had for why he was preparing to scale the walls of the most celebrated general in Remnant’s home at seven thirty in the morning.

Thankfully, while so much of his life was complicated, this plan would be nice and easy.

There was a brooch all but asking to be stolen and he was a bandit, all but asking for something to steal. 

Really, nothing could be simpler.

And once this heist got going, that simplicity would play out nice and smoothly.

Now where the hell was Mercury with that distraction so it could start, already?

Remnant’s streets were as busy and noisy as they ever were. All around, shopkeepers were making deals with their customers, friends were visiting friends, children were playing all manner of games, and street performers were singing for their supper. For most of his typical goings ons, a situation like that was a good thing. More people out and about meant more things for people to balance keeping an eye on, and if a trinket, a loaf of bread, or some coins got lost in the shuffle of the usual crowds, they wouldn’t be missed until it was far too late to do anything about it.

However, while that business often made for a good environment in his line of work, in a case like this where he was scaling walls in broad daylight, discretion was key to success. So, for an occasion like this, he needed a more artificial way of pulling the attention of the masses away from him, and that way came in the form of a distraction by one Mercury Black.

Still, even though he was sure the distraction wouldn't fail, he was annoyed that they had to rely on one in the first place. Qrow had wanted to do this heist last night -- “you know, when people are asleep,” he argued -- but his accomplice insisted they wait until the morning to start. He had no idea what could’ve possibly been more important than completing this heist, nor what had to have possessed him to agree to forego his nighttime plan. It certainly would’ve been easier than what they were doing now!

This, Qrow reminded himself, is why he preferred to work alone. 

Yes, it wasn’t common for Qrow to work on a team -- he was a good enough bandit on his own and less people meant less profit splitting -- but when there was a brooch encrusted with Remnant’s purest emeralds as primed for the taking as was the one situated in General Ironwood’s heavily guarded home, there were suddenly all sorts of things Qrow Branwen found he was willing to do.

That brooch…

With the money he could get from a brooch like that, Qrow would never have to worry about money ever again.

In fact, with the money he could get from a brooch like that, he’d never have to worry about anything ever again.

Now that would be just the kind of break he so desperately needed.

All he had to do to get it was just wait for the signal and then do what he did best.

From the shadowed portion of the alley he was hiding in, Qrow glared in the general direction he knew Mercury’s distraction would come from, as if that glare would somehow will the distraction into existence.

And suddenly, as if the universe itself were abiding by his request, a loud and messy boom of a sound made itself known from the other side of the alley’s wall -- the far-too-long-for-Qrow’s-liking sought after signal.

It was about damn time.

Qrow counted off the seconds as panicked noises emerged in droves, crescendoing, only to then gradually soften as they moved further and further away from Qrow to investigate the strange noise. When Qrow reached fifty, he slowly started climbing up the house’s walls. He checked to make sure the coast was clear and upon seeing that everyone’s attention -- even including most of Ironwood’s guards, with more exiting the house -- was elsewhere, he continued climbing, now daring to speed up, knowing he wouldn’t be noticed.

He had to hand it to Mercury: the guy and those boots of his were pretty effective as a distraction, and Qrow knew as he hastened to finish his climb up the house’s wall that that very distraction would hold well until their job was done.

The top floor window of the General’s home was closed tightly with a decorative piece of stained glass depicting the brooch with a glowing sunset behind it.

To call the stained glass beautiful would be an understatement. In truth, it was a masterpiece, with every detail of the piece so intricately crafted, and though Qrow was by no means an art critic, even he knew that the glassblower, whoever they were, had certainly outdone themselves here.

It was a shame though that such a magnificent piece stood in his way.

Quickly, Qrow took the satchel at his side, pressed it up against the glass, and punched it as hard as he could at different angels three times.The first time cracked most of it and even sent a few shards of glass tumbling down the other side of the window. The second time shattered much of the glass on the other side, just enough to create a hole he could feasibly get though. And the third time left the window completely destroyed, ensuring that his exit would leave no room for complications.

Again, Qrow was a complicated man, but that didn’t mean his schemes had to be.

Qrow climbed through the window and examined the room. Despite the bright, pale green colored walls of the room and how full it was, there was a certain moroseness to it too that couldn’t be ignored. It was enough to even give Qrow pause for the barest of seconds before he started to look for the brooch.

The room had quite a lot of things in it -- toys, old furniture, crates full of supplies and the like. To anyone else, finding the brooch in here would’ve been as easy as finding a needle in a haystack. 

However, Qrow wasn’t just anyone. He was a bandit, and a damn good one.

Qrow looked to the floors of the room. There were messes all along them. However, one section of the room directly to his left was spared a mess in front of it and it just so happened that that one section gave way to a wide drawer. 

He was starting to wonder just how Ironwood managed to become a general with a hiding spot as transparent as that.

It almost felt unfair taking the brooch under such easy circumstances.

However, ‘almost’ was the key word in that sentiment.

Qrow made his way over to the drawer and looked at the three brass handles that each drawer held. The top and middle drawers were a dark copper color, but the bottom had a hint of shininess to it, implying it was used more often than the others.

Honestly, he’d opened lockless doors more challenging than that deduction was.

And speaking of locks...

There was a lock on the top right side of the bottom drawer, clearly a final obstacle between anyone and the brooch. It also likely served a second purpose -- notifying Ironwood if the brooch’s hiding spot had been discovered by thieves. Whithout the help of a key, whatever thief who had made it this far was likely to make noise trying to open the lock with a whatever they had on hand, or if they were truly dumb enough, they might try to go deeper into the house to try to find the key’s location.

But Qrow wasn’t noisy, nor was he dumb, and he certainly wasn’t a thief.

From his belt, Qrow reached for his weapon, Harbinger and removed it from his sheath. Once in his hand, Qrow flicked Harbinger, unfolding it. 

Qrow was a complicated man -- it only made sense that his weapon would be too, and Harbinger was nothing if not complicated all the way from its inception to its design. Much like the bones of an arm, Harbinger was a scythe able to fold and unfold itself thanks to metal screws that acted as joints, and both of its forms served a different purpose. When it was folded, it ensured stronger blows and made for a handy makeshift shield, acting as almost more of a sword than a scythe, and when it was unfolded, it served the purposes of giving his attacks and abilities range and flexibility.

But while quite the wondrous weapon in its own right, Harbinger had an additional secret ability in the tip of it in its unfolded state. 

In that state, its tip was just the perfect size to use as a lockpick, and Qrow wouldn’t even have to bend down to use it.

Really, this was too, too easy.

All the same though, Qrow wasn’t about to argue with an easy victory. He swung Harbinger back and forth in just the way he knew would unlock the drawer. The resulting click when it did was music to Qrow’s ears.

Qrow took Harbinger out of the drawer’s lock and used it to pull open the drawer at the handle. 

And there, just as he knew it would be, was the brooch.

Folding and putting Harbinger away, Qrow looked at the brooch. The little bits of sunlight that reflected off of the broken stained glass shards on the floor made the brooch’s emeralds shimmer, making it look even more priceless than it already was.

All it took was one long look for Qrow to know that that brooch was going to make him a very rich man.

And it was all so easy...that is, until it wasn’t.

“Step away from the brooch now.”

Without saying a word, Qrow turned around to see the room’s new occupant and spotted a young woman, about his age, standing in the actual door to the room’s open frame. She had a steely gaze, hair that formed the abstract, yet still present shape of two bunny ears, and two large gauntlets in her hands.

He recognized her immediately -- Harriet, General Ironwood’s oldest daughter. 

And she recognized him. It was obvious and not at all surprising. After all, one didn’t become the greatest bandit in all of Remnant without gaining something of a reputation. Apparently, that reputation had spread all the way to the top of the pecking order.

He almost had to wonder now if the king knew about him. Wouldn’t that be funny?

“You’ve stolen more than you ever should’ve from our kingdom, Branwen,” Harriet continued, eyes flaring and tone hitching up slightly, still firm but also somewhat desperate too, “but I swear, on my honor as a knight of the royal guard, that you will not get this brooch!” 

A smirk crossed Qrow’s features as he mapped out his next moves. “Oh, I think you’ll find that I will,” he said, and with not a single beat passing between him and his pursuer, he grabbed the brooch in one fluid notion. “You know,” he continued, swiftly making for the room’s window, carefully avoiding every piece of broken glass in his path, “you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

And as soon as Qrow’s final words left his mouth, he jumped out of the window with an air about him so casual that one would almost believe he was just visiting for tea if not for his unorthodox exit.

Qrow grabbed onto the house’s outer wall, just as he did on his climb up, and turned his head to look behind him. The roof of the next house over was a simple jump over, and Qrow wasted no time taking the leap. He continued rushing across the rooftops one by one.

As Qrow ran ahead, shoving the brooch into his satchel, he took notice of the multiple sounds following him. 

There were the gasps of people who had now noticed his presence from atop the roofs of houses he now ran on.

There was the boom of what Qrow could only assume was another explosion courtesy of Mercury’s boots in an attempt to keep the attention of those who hadn’t seen him yet.

But the worst -- not to mention, the loudest -- came in the form of Harriet’s shouts.

“Come back here, Branwen!” she cried. 

God, was she annoying.

He had a feeling when he and Mercury first came up with this plan that she’d be the worst part of his day.

And with any luck...he’d be the worst part of hers.

Qrow looked behind him, back at the window, and much to his lack of surprise, he could see Harriet glowing yellow. 

It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant.

In all his time stealing his way through Remnant, Qrow had been fortunate enough to not have a direct run-in with Harriet before, or those siblings of hers, for that matter. Like himself, they had a reputation of their own as specialized knights all apprenticed directly under General Ironwood himself. Because of General Ironwood’s renown and his children’s talents, they were considered to be Remnant’s top knights, and many took to calling them the Ace Ops. 

However, just because Qrow never had the misfortune to meet them, it didn’t mean he intended to go about his days in their territory blind to his biggest threats.

And of course, learning about them meant learning about their semblances too, and Harriet was just about to use hers.

In the two seconds Qrow spent looking at the window before turning his attention back to the roofs, he saw Harriet rush out the window and in his direction, getting closer and closer by the second.

Speed semblances...what a pain in the ass they could be…

But Qrow also knew quite a lot about pain in the ass semblances, and now felt like just the right time to use his.

Thinking quickly, Qrow took a sharp right turn and leapt onto an adjacent rooftop, running in a direction that was very familiar to him. 

Harriet was catching up fast, but Qrow kept his lead.

All he had to do was go a little bit further.

There were just two houses to go.

A shout from Harriet boomed just after he got across the first one.

More gasps sprinkled his path as he passed by the second one.

Then, as Qrow reached the roof he was looking for, he was met with a very welcoming creak. He listened wholly to the sound, looked closely at its qualities, and spent the two seconds he had with it focusing all his energy into everything he had gleaned about the wood in that short time. When he was finally done with the step, a smirk crossed his face.

She was done for.

Without stopping, Qrow ran past the rooftop and onto the next one. When he arrived at that rooftop, for the first time since he began, he stopped running and turned, looking backwards once more. Harriet was just two houses away from him. 

“It’s over, Branwen,” she growled as she ran across the first rooftop. Qrow simply stood there and watched, his smirk staying perfectly in place. 

Harriet smirked right back at him and she ran onto the next rooftop.

But that smirk, just as quickly as it appeared, jumped off her face as the rooftop she stood atop caved in on itself. 

Qrow released a dark chuckle and slowly approached the wrecked scene. Harriet struggled under the wood of the roof, her torso trapped under a large support beam. She looked like a turtle stuck on its back, and it was all Qrow could do not to laugh...so he didn’t even try not to. 

Still, Qrow knew from experience that the support beam of that roof was quite rotted and clearly not big nor strong enough to kill or even seriously injure her. That said, he also knew that it was all the same more than enough to keep her occupied under it for a nice, nice while.

“You’re right!” Qrow called. “It is over, just not for me. Must be your unlucky day.” 

“Branwen!” Harriet shouted. 

“Hey! Not my fault the kingdom doesn't invest enough into local infrastructure!” Qrow replied, the now devilish smirk on his face still present, betraying any innocence his mocking tone may have had. “Let’s just thank the Gods that no one lives there, and that you’re safe and secure under that beam!”

Harriet’s eyes flared at the jests. She glowed yellow, clearly trying to use her semblance to free herself, but to no avail. “Stop him!” she then yelled, likely to her guards, but from the view Qrow had of the town, it looked to be towards no one in particular. 

This was almost going to be too easy.

But still aware that guards would be on his tail soon, so as not to tempt fate any more than he already had, Qrow gave the sight below him a final snort before taking off on his current course once more.

With a moment to take for himself at last in his gras, Qrow lowered himself from the next low-to-the-ground rooftop he could find and landed in another deserted alleyway. He placed a hand against one of the alley’s walls, taking laborious breaths only kept quiet thanks to years of on-the-job training. In his line of work, too much noise was the difference between a full belly and a jail cell.

A few minutes passed as Qrow calculated the rest of his escape. He still had at least a mile’s run to get out of the town and into the forest, and of course, distance wasn’t the only thing he had to take into consideration, not by a long shot. 

As if on cue, one of those things made themselves known. The sudden sound of metal clashing with stone from behind him had Qrow freeze in place.

“Finally,” a voice spoke from out of his line of sight. “Managed to catch up to you.” 

Qrow remained frozen, but only for another half a second as he realized who he was speaking to. 

When he finally did, all he could do was roll his eyes and remind himself that this was why he worked alone as he turned around and greeted his accomplice.

“Gods, can you run,” Mercury continued, taking deep breaths of his own, though completely devoid of the hushedness that Qrow had long since mastered.

“Well, if we did this at night like I said we should, you probably wouldn’t have had to run like that. But no. For some asinine reason, it had to be done in broad daylight, and I cannot for the life of me understand why.”

Mercury grunted and shrugged. “I was busy, and we’ve all gotta do what we’ve gotta do. Even a thief like you understands that, right?”

“A thief like me,” Qrow mocked through a scoff. “I know this wasn’t your first time doing this either. And I’m a bandit. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t have your reputation,” Mercury shot back. “And no, there isn’t.”

“As I’ll remind you, it’s thanks to that reputation that we’re about to make enough money to buy our own thieves to argue over this stuff. And yes, there is.”

Suddenly, Qrow grew quiet and signaled to Mercury to do the same as he listened to the sounds coming from the streets. He could hear a number of footsteps stepping in a way he knew well.

Guards were approaching.

“We have to get out of here, and fast,” Qrow whispered. He looked ahead, and upon finding their best option, gestured to Mercury to follow as he headed in that direction. 

For three brief minutes, they were able to retain their anonymity and walk through the streets innocently-seeming enough.

However, at the sight of one of the general’s knights and the gleam of recognition she held in her eyes, Qrow knew that anonymity was as good as gone.

The knight called for backup and the sound of hastening footsteps had Qrow and Mercury once more rushing through the streets.

While the whole affair should’ve had Qrow terrified of being caught, it was a sense of anticipation and well-earned confidence that he found himself to be stricken with as he ran away from the guards.

This was one hell of a way to spend a morning, and in just a few hours, he’d be out of this village, at the black market, and swimming in money.

And maybe then, he could actually do something worthwhile with his life for a change.

...Well, Qrow wasn’t lying when he called himself a complicated man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! A review of any kind is always appreciated, but regardless of whether you leave one or not, have an awesome day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How this chapter actually managed to come out on time, I will NEVER know! XD But it did, so get ready!

Clover considered himself pretty knowledgeable when it came to his body. 

It shouldn’t have come as a shock to anyone. After all, he spent an awful long time getting to know it without the hassle of constant distractions and a biology book at his disposal since his eleventh birthday that was now in dire need of glue just to keep itself together. 

Much of Clover’s life had been spent exploring his physical limits. Exercise was a key part of that, with much of his day used to stretch, work out, climb, pull, and reel. He’d seen the developing muscles across his limbs act as the payoff of that work.

Injuries were another. A child could only be so safe when left alone in a tower for much of a day, and even with the hindsight gained through maturity, injuries as a result of experimentation with what he could and couldn’t do were inevitable. Even when he wasn’t suffering them, he closely studied Raven’s injuries as well as his uncle’s when he could get a peek of or information about their existences.

But all the same, those experiences, both good and bad were fantastic teachers. The human body -- as well as the body of a bird -- was such an interesting thing to Clover. It was frail, yet durable and nuanced in its structure as muscles, bones, nerves and veins all made their homes in an interconnected mass that combined to create a living, breathing, thinking, feeling being. A million things could hurt a body, but a million things could also save it, and that wasn’t even factoring in the effects of semblances, an effect that in all honesty, he only had the vaguest idea about.

Many an hour was spent by Clover studying his book’s diagrams as well as his own growth, thinking about all the possibilities for how that one bodily structure could go about life in such a world as theirs.

So yes, Clover felt he knew the human body -- mostly his -- quite well.

However, despite all of his knowledge about that body, he had no idea how in the world he could possibly slow down the rapid beating of his heart as he approached his uncle.

Well, that wasn’t true. Clover knew plenty of ways to do so, but that rapid beating in his heart made it all the way over to his ears, deafening them to even the thought of any of those methods.

But he didn’t need to hear those methods -- today, he had no problem with letting his anticipation and excitement over asking what he was about to ask fuel the fire in his heart.

He was going to do it.

Oh Gods, he was really going to do it.

“Clover!” 

The second time his Uncle Tyrian said his name was noticeably less patient than the first. Clover would be lying if he said it wasn’t just a bit annoying.

To be fair though, that impatience was very much understandable. Uncle Tyrian only had so much time to spend with Clover in the morning before he had to go to work, and he wanted to make sure each and every possible second of it was spent by Clover’s side. The process of getting him up the tower took long enough as it stood, so any further delays on top of it were just an additional hassle, and Clover absolutely felt the same.

Greeting and helping his uncle into the tower was the high point of Clover’s morning, and had been for ages. It not only provided him with the most activity he’d experience until his uncle’s return at sunset, but it gave him a friendly face on top of it all.

“Hello, uncle!” Clover called down to the bottom of the tower. “Looking good today!”

Despite the gentle wind’s efforts, he could hear the light sound of his uncle’s chuckle. 

“I’m surprised you can tell one way or the other from all the way up there!” he said. “Bring me up!”

“Of course! Just another second, please!”

Clover quickly grabbed Kingfisher, aiming the weapon with his eyes. Once he was perfectly in place, he held his weapon above his head and behind his left shoulder, and then swung it downward, just as he’d done hundreds and hundreds of times before.

Just as it did everyday, Clover felt the familiar bit of pressure in the reel as Uncle Tyrian clicked Kingfisher’s hook into its usual spot and heard the ever so faint sound of him stepping onto their mechanism’s stone base.

“I’m ready!” Uncle Tyrian called out to him, and with that, Clover started pulling.

Kingfisher’s reel was strong -- it had lifted him plenty of times -- but lifting a person positioned on the heavy stone his uncle stood on was something Clover knew that reel wouldn’t be able to handle. Because of that, for the sake of keeping the reel’s strength and structure intact, Clover elected to regularly pull his uncle up to the tower by reeling in the line with his own two hands, bit by bit.

It was a good thing he had the foresight to take up wearing leather gloves when he pulled. 

Whether the thing being pulled was made of the plant stems or metal, rope burn was a pain no one should have to deal with.

Clover lifted his uncle all the way up the tower to its window. As he exited the stone pulley, Clover gently lowered it down again until he was sure he could let it drop without risking cracking the stone itself.

When the task of resetting the pulley was at last done, Clover turned to greet his company.

“Good morning, Uncle Tyrian!” he called out. As Clover approached, Uncle Tyrian took a gentle hold of his head, giving it a kind pat.

“Clover! My boy,” he said through a dramatic, yet goofy sigh, “how you’ve configured that weapon of yours so you can pull me up each and every day, all on your own, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Oh,” Clover waved off as the hug broke, “it’s nothing.”

Uncle Tyrian smiled, almost too sweetly, as he released his hold on Clover. “Then I don’t know why it took so long,” he said, the slightest hint of a sing-song fashion in his voice as his index poked Clover’s nose to a rhythm his uncle developed. Clover frowned, causing Tyrian to laugh. “Oh, boy. I’m just teasing,” he cooed, right before walking himself further into the room.

Clover forced out a chuckle. His uncle had a tendency to joke around with him, no doubt a means of bringing some extra joy to his small and quite lonely world. It wasn’t that Clover didn’t appreciate it...but his uncle’s jokes had a habit of seldom being as funny as Clover imagined his uncle found them -- not to mention, sometimes, it was hard to tell what was a joke and what wasn’t. 

Uncle Tyrian was, in a word, opinionated...very, very opinionated. He had something to say about everything, and what he usually said amounted to pointing out what was wrong with or what could be improved about whatever point of discussion came his way.

Of course, he wasn’t without his compliments -- Uncle Tyrian was by no means a cruel man. He appreciated Clover’s meal preparation and how much easier their pulley system made his morning climb than before. Criticisms were just his uncle’s way of trying to make his and Clover’s world better.

And that was a good thing, Clover supposed. Life in a tower or not, there was something to be said for effort and one’s quality of life. If anything, the fact that his uncle gave him critiques showed trust. It was a trust that Clover could improve, do more than he expected to, despite his limitations.

It was inspiring.

Clover just wished the difference between what was supposed to be inspiring and what was supposed to make him laugh was made just a little bit clearer. But perhaps that was a nuance that was more organically recognized in the world outside of the tower.

Uncle Tyrian probably picked it up.

He never would.

No...he would because he was finally going to ask for the chance to see just a glimpse of that world for himself.

It was finally time.

Clover took a deep breath, and finally enacted his plan. 

“Uncle Tyrian,” Clover started, following him to the mirror by his closet. “As you know, tomorrow is-”

“Clover,” he interrupted, taking hold of Clover’s shoulder and pulling him beside him in front of the mirror. “Do you know what I see in that mirror? I see a strong, bright, handsome man.” Clover smiled at the unashamed compliment, and let himself lean more into his uncle’s touch. 

“Oh look,” he then continued, “you’re there too.” A fit of laughter took over his uncle.

And there was the punchline…

Clover hoped his love for his uncle was something Uncle Tyrian never questioned, but all the same, his uncle really needed to work on his material.

Though he tried his best not to, Clover couldn’t help but drop the fragile smile that he’d built in the span of those few precious seconds before the proverbial other shoe was dropped.

At the sight of that, Uncle Tyrian playfully ruffled his hair. “Oh Clover, I’m just teasing! You really need to work on that oversensitivity of yours.” Uncle Tyrian then stepped away from the mirror and headed towards the breakfast table. “Now, what have you made for us today, boy?”

Before Clover answered, he took a second’s pause for a deep breath, still recovering from his uncle’s joke. 

He told himself to relax, reminded himself that today yielded a far bigger prize to focus on, and repeated a sentiment he’d argue many a time in the past -- if his uncle’s questionable taste in comedy was his biggest failing, then Clover would take it with a smile the size of this very tower itself on his face.

Perhaps his uncle was right about his oversensitivity…

Well, if that was the case, then Clover would just have to show him that he could overcome that, too.

Clover smiled, walking over to Uncle Tyrian’s side of the breakfast table and pulling his uncle’s chair out for him. 

“I’m so happy you asked,” he said once his uncle was situated, leaning towards the dish. “For today, I’ve prepared for us fresh bread rolls with cinnamon and brown sugar baked into the dough, an apricot spread, and some lemon tea.”

Tyrian hummed, clearly impressed. “Sounds good. And might I add that someone’s feeling confident,” he said, smiling a bit.

“What can I say?” Clover returned. “When I get to make breakfast for the world’s best uncle, I do it well.” He chuckled as he gave his uncle a pat on the shoulder, right before taking off for his own side of the table. As Clover sat down and spread his jam over his roll, he watched his uncle do the same and take his first bite. 

He looked pleased.

That was a good sign.

It was now time to try again.

“So Uncle, I-”

Uncle Tyrian moaned in delight. “These are fantastic,” he said through a full mouth, pointing his free hand at the roll in his hand. “Clover, you are a God in the kitchen.”

“Well, you told me my mother was quite the baker. I felt like I owed it to her to try to do the same.”

“You’re a good boy, Clover -- always doing just what your parents wished you to do.”

Clover felt his smile wane.

Yes, he was a good boy.

Yes, he did always do just what his parents wished him to do.

But yes, he was also going to request to defy their dying plea.

It would only be for a single day -- barely a blink of an eye compared to the lifetime he’d dutifully spent in this tower already, and would continue to dutifully spend in this tower once he did it.

All the same though, it was undeniably a defiance he would be suggesting.

What would his parents or his uncle think of that?

Suddenly, Clover found that his heart was quite heavy.

“You know, Clover,” Uncle Tyrian continued, paying Clover no mind. “Your bread is nice, but when’s the last time you cooked up some eggs or sausage? A big, strapping young man needs protein in his diet. ...And so do you!” At that comment, he started laughing again. “I’ll need to pick you up some the next time I go out.”

Clover forced a laugh, trying to regain his metaphorical footing.

What was he thinking, asking to do this?

But then, Clover felt the tiniest bit of heat from behind him. 

He had a feeling of its source.

Still, perhaps seeing it with his own eyes would help him make a decision.

Clover grabbed his butter knife and made a move to get some more jam for his roll. However, the knife ‘slipped’ out of his hand just before he could.

Oops. 

From across the table, his uncle gave him a wistful shake of the head, one Clover responded to with naught but a shrug of his shoulders, a silly smile, and a chuckle under his breath before ducking under the table to retrieve it. 

Once under the table, Clover looked behind him, towards the possible source of the heat he felt on his back.

Sure enough, looking right back at him was Raven. 

A bird could only be so expressive. Clover knew that to be true. 

However, the look she gave Clover was one that could be nothing else other than pure encouragement.

It did the trick of melting Clover’s anxieties away like honey in a cup of tea.

She was right. He could do this.

‘Thank you,’ he silently mouthed to her just before grabbing the knife and rising back up to the table. Raven gave him a nod from her hiding spot. Clover then grabbed his knife and brought it over to the kitchen area’s sink. 

“Uncle,” he said. “Can we talk?”

“It was my belief that we were already talking,” Uncle Tyrian replied, smirking.

Clover returned the smirk with one of his own.

“What was it you always told me about not being a smart ass?” he said, unable to keep the laugh out of his voice.

“I’m not a smart ass,” his uncle returned without so much as a beat passing between them. “I’m just smart.”

Clover had to admit that was actually a good joke.

The two of them shared a laugh. It had been a while since they both did at the same time, and Clover loved the feeling of them unequivocally sharing such a warm moment more than he could ever explain.

And the fact that Uncle Tyrian’s mood had nicely improved as a result of such a moment right before Clover was about to ask him his question didn’t hurt either.

As it turned out, Clover was smart, too.

“So Uncle,” he said when the laughter had at last subsided. “As I’m sure you know, tomorrow is my birthday.”

Uncle Tyrian gave him a look similar to just a bit earlier, confused, but almost sarcastically.

“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Your birthday was last year. You remember, right?”

Clover gave him a pointed look. “You know birthdays are kind of an annual thing, right?”

“Are they though?”

“Yes, uncle,” he said, half teasing and half tired.

Finally, Clover took a deep breath.

It was time. 

“Uncle,” he continued. “I’m turning twenty-one tomorrow, and I wanted to ask.” Clover took a pause to sigh and collect himself. 

It was really happening. He almost didn’t know how to process that, let alone ask for it.

All memories of the hours of practice he put into this moment abandoned him.

Oh well, looks like he was gonna wing it. 

“What I really want for this birthday,” he said when at last ready. “Actually, what I’ve wanted for quite a few birthdays now…”

Clover could tell that the changes to his voice as a result of his reliance on improvisation pulled down his voice’s pitch and quickened its pace, now sounding like something that resembled a mumble, but he’d hoped Uncle Tyrian wouldn’t call attention to it.

He did.

“Clover, please,” Uncle Tyrian interrupted, dramatically sighing in an unamused tone. “You need to stop with the mumbling. You know how I feel about the mumbling. Everything you’re saying is just ‘Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.’” he mocked, and in true Uncle Tyrian fashion, as soon as he was done admonishing Clover, Clover knew he was going to go right back to teasing him or praising him or something else, unintentionally deflecting from and further delaying the conversation. 

But Clover wasn’t going to let that happen again.

“I want to see the floating lights!”

The words all but flew off of Clover’s lips. If Clover himself didn’t feel himself say them, he wouldn’t have believed that they were actually even said.

However, they were.

For a long moment, everything and everyone in the room basically froze.

He’d said it. There was no taking back the request.

Now, it was a matter of how his uncle would respond.

Clover studied his uncle’s face. It flashed through expressions of shock, confusion, and reluctance over the following few seconds.

He knew he was going to have to argue for his request after he at last vocalized it, so those expressions didn’t surprise him, nor did the single word that followed.

“What?”

It was now on him to elaborate on what he meant, and thankfully, he had the perfect visual representation of that.

Clover swiftly moved over to the curtains, the mask that had shielded a certain painting of his from his uncle for years.

Now though, it was time for that mask to finally be lifted.

Pulling at the curtains, Clover revealed the painting he’d made of himself watching the floating green lights.

“These,” Clover clarified. “I was hoping you could take these floating lights.”

He looked away from his painting and back to Uncle Tyrian, who was now studying it.

However, he did so only for a moment before smiling with recognition.

For the brief moment before his uncle responded, Clover let himself hope.

And then he spoke.

“Oh,” Uncle Tyrian said, nodding as his recognizing smile persisted. “You mean the stars. They are beautiful, but you won’t find a better view of them than you have in your tower.”

“N-no, uncle, please,” Clover said, raising his hand in a stopping motion. He grabbed Kingfisher, unhooking it from the pulley and shot its hook towards the upper part of his tower, where a little door had existed that acted very much like a window. The miniature door not only made for a nice skylight, but also illuminated a sky chart he’d developed. 

“I’ve been studying astrology for years now,” he continued, “and whatever these lights are, they aren’t stars. They don’t stay in the sky for weeks or months at a time like stars do. They just appear on my birthday -- only my birthday. And...I just can’t help but feel like these lights and I are connected somehow.” 

Clover sighed. He hoped to the Gods that he was making sense. 

“Uncle, I need to see these lights, in person, and finally understand what they are.”

He’d never let his passion bleed for anything in his life like how he let it in this moment.

Upon saying those last words, Clover signaled to Uncle Tyrian that he was done speaking as well as thanking him for letting him do so uninterrupted.

Uncle Tyrian took a small pause, and then a deep breath. 

“You want to go outside?” Uncle Tyrian clarified, his face and tone neutral.

“Yes.”

“You want to go against your parents’ final wishes for you?” It was said in the exact same way as the previous question.

Clover knew those words were going to come up. He knew his body would take it like ice water down his back, and tried to prepare himself for the feeling.

As it turns out, all the preparation in the world couldn’t make that notion feel any less painful than it did when it was finally out.

However, Clover had also planned out his answer to that inevitable question.

He nodded. “Yes.” 

Uncle Tyrian gave him a dark look, filled to the brim with disappointment. “But,” Clover quickly added, “it would only be for a day, and you’d be with me the whole time! I bet you know good places to hide, and quick roads to take if we need to escape! You could keep me safe. So, please? Will you take me?”

Clover prayed that Uncle Tyrian could see the desperation and pure want that coursed through his entire being -- that he could tell that while Clover knew the risks of such a request, he wasn't intending on going through with this plan with naught but a childlike understanding of the world, and that he wouldn’t ask something like this if he didn’t long for it with every fibre of his heart, just like he did now.

Maybe Uncle Tyrian did see that.

He probably did, judging by the look on his face.

That didn’t make his response any easier to hear.

“Oh, Clover,” he said, getting up, approaching Clover, and taking his cheek into his hard, bony hand. “When your poor father -- my brother -- died protecting you, he begged me to watch over his most adored and fragile treasure, and I promised him I’d do everything in my power to ensure your safety for as long as I lived.”

“And, I know, uncle, but-”

“It’s a dangerous world out there, Clover.”

“You’ve told me that, but-”

“So, what else is there to say?” Uncle Tyrian gave him the floor, expectantly looking at him as he waited for a response.

Clover tried desperately to come up with an answer to that...but with every rebuke that came to his mind, he knew exactly what his uncle would say to shoot it down. 

His strength? ‘Men out there have four times the strength you do, boy!’

His weapon? ‘That little fishing pole of yours won’t do anything against the weapons those outside the tower have!’

His stealth? ‘What stealth? You’re as subtle as a strike of lightning!’

“I-I just think-,” Clover started, trying once more to argue his point.

And just as some part of him knew it was going to happen, that was as far as he got.

“That’s the thing, Clover,” Uncle Tyrian interrupted, peering straight into his eyes. “You just think, but you don’t know.” With his free hand, Uncle Tyrian placed a hand to his own heart, smiling ever so slightly as he did so. “I do know, and I’m here to keep you safely cocooned from the world.”

Clover’s feelings on the way Uncle Tyrian described the tower they dwelled in was something of a mixed bag. Often, it was fine enough -- a safe place, rustic, unassuming. But when he said things like ‘cocooned,’ it just felt so confining, like a blanket tucked around his too tightly, constricting his arms and chest entirely. It made Clover want to go outside of it more than ever. 

In that moment, it served to strengthen Clover’s resolve, however minorly.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be from all of the world?” Clover suggested, optimistically, yet slowly, in much the same way that one drank a cup of piping hot tea.

Uncle Tyrian laughed. 

“Clover, Clover,” he said, patting Clover’s cheek. “You’re such a naive, funny boy, and I love you for that. But the world isn’t so simple to manage -- it never has been. I know you. You’ll let just a little bit of it into your life, thinking it won’t be too much, and then a bit more, and before you know it, the chaos of the world will find its way into this safe haven your father left you, and then you’ll be kidnapped and sold off, or perhaps even worse once they realize that you can’t control your semblance!”

Clover winced, audibly despite his efforts for it not to be.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t aware of the dangers he knew going outside would present. He could never let himself forget, nor would his uncle ever let him forget either. However, being reminded of those very dangers so directly never failed to send shudders down his spine and make his skin feel like it was crawling up it.

...Not to mention, Uncle Tyrian was right about Clover semblance. If anyone knew…

And like his uncle always said, even if they didn’t know...they’d find out, and sooner, rather than later, at that. 

“Clover,” Uncle Tyrian continued, “I’m a strong man, but I can only do so much once I’m outnumbered. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything ever happening to you -- not on my watch. And I know you wouldn’t wish to put me in danger, either.”

“O-of course not, uncle,” Clover quickly assured. “I’d never want you to get hurt, especially for me.”

“Nor would I ever want you to be hurt. But don’t worry, Clover. You’re exactly where you belong -- away from danger -- nice, safe, and happy in this tower, and that’s exactly how you’ll stay. Be glad for that, my boy. Not everyone is so lucky.” Uncle Tyrian pinched Clover’s cheek. Clover knew it was meant to be in a joking way, something to lighten the mood between them, but it was just a bit too tight a pinch to do that for his taste. Even still though, Clover forced a chuckle.

“Y-yes, uncle.”

Uncle Tyrian looked at the clock, making a ‘tsk’ noise with his lips and teeth. “Is it eight-forty five already?” he half-groaned. 

Clover looked at the clock. Indeed, it was. 

That meant it was time for him to leave for work.

“Where does the time even go?”

Unfortunately, Clover had a pretty good idea, and if this conversation solidified anything, it was that that would remain the case for a long time to come.

“No idea, uncle. Let me get the pulley ready for you.” Clover turned away from his uncle as he started to make his way towards the window, trying all the while to desperately eat his frown before his uncle saw it. He succeeded in at least cloaking it behind a neutral expression.

Of course, Clover knew there ran the risk of this plan failing...but experiencing that reality was nowhere near as bad as imagining it had ever been.

He should’ve known it was stupid to try...

“Before you do,” Uncle Tyrian said, his words stopping Clover in his tracks and having him turn back to face him. “I have some good news for you, Clover.”

“Oh?” Clover asked, trying with all his might to simultaneously will his semblance to do something for him and to will his hopes away.

His semblance, as per usual, did nothing of the sort.

“My work is on the lighter side today, so I can come home early. I’ll bring some food, and we’ll have a delicious lunch together. How does that sound?”

On any other day, that would’ve been just about the best news Clover could ever hope to receive.

However, today, in comparison to his wish to see the lights and the clear rejection of that wish by his uncle, it just came off as a consolation prize more than anything.

But how ungrateful was that of him to feel, after all his uncle had done for him?

It wasn’t like Uncle Tyrian was saying no to his request to be mean -- he was just trying to keep Clover safe. And now, here he was, using the little time he had off of work not to treat himself to some alone time, but to instead do nothing more than spend a few extra hours with him.

No, Clover thought to himself, he couldn’t be that cruel, not to a man like that. 

He could always just work harder to show his uncle how strong and independent he could be and try again next year.

Quickly, Clover shook all morose feelings away and forced a smile.

“That’s great, uncle,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

Tyrian placed a hand on Clover’s head.

“I love you,” he said.

Clover felt his smile soften, because it was now completely and utterly genuine.

“I love you too, Uncle Tyrian.” With that, Clover turned around and readied the pulley for his uncle’s trip down.

The good news about the pulley’s reverse trip was that it was a lot less straining on his body and took noticeably less time, too. Within six minutes, Uncle Tyrian was safely on the ground, waving goodbye to Clover as he made his way through the vine-y entrance that shielded the tower from the world, promising Clover before he went too far off to be heard that he’d be back soon. Much like every morning, Clover waved back and watched as he disappeared into the vines.

When he was at last gone, Clover turned, and sat down against the window’s wall. 

Right next to him when he landed, Raven stood, placing her uninjured wing on his knee in an act of compassion. 

It was an appreciated sentiment, a comforting one...but it also served to remind Clover that he failed in his mission today.

He wouldn’t be seeing the floating lights this year.

In fact, if today’s conversation was anything to go by, he might not see them ever.

At least he still had the view from his window...but that was no longer the comfort that it had been in the years prior.

He’d asked...he’d argued as passionately as he’d ever dared...and had come away with nothing to show for it...

Clover knew a lot about his body.

If only he knew for the life of him how to will the fresh tears he was now shedding away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments of any kind are always appreciated, but either way, have an awesome (Or as awesome as you can have, given, you know, the global pandemic) day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS OUT-OF-UNIVERSE CHAPTER!!!!
> 
> Clover's expressed interest in going outside his tower. His "Uncle Tyrian" has some thoughts about that, and in this special bonus, those thoughts are conveyed through the magic of Disney-styled singing!
> 
> (Remixed lyrics to "Mother Knows Best"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! For today’s Tangled AU update, I have another song remix, this time of “Mother Knows Best,” or rather “Uncle Knows Best!” 
> 
> Just a note, I am using the Tangled album’s extended version of this song, so if you’re following along with the movie, you’re going to get an extra verse! Also, if you haven’t, ABSOLUTELY check out the extended version of “Mother Knows Best” from the album because that additional verse is hilarious and guilt trip-y and gives Mother Gothel even more meat to her already meaty character! I’m not sure why it wasn’t in the movie, but I’m glad we have it in some form regardless!
> 
> Finally, before I start, I just want to thank you all for reading the fic so far! I appreciate how much you’ve all taken an interest in the story and characters, and I hope you like this remix!
> 
> Also, if you want to hit up my Tumblr (theonceoverthinker), you can hear me SING the song, and not to boast, but I had some FUN singing as Tyrian, and I absolutely made sure to HAM IT UP, so if you want a laugh, you might get a kick out of that!

**TYRIAN (SPOKEN):**   
You want to go outside?  
Why, Clover...

**TYRIAN:**  
Look at you, naive as a newborn  
Not even close to ready to move on  
You know why you stay up in this tower

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
I know-

**TYRIAN:**   
That’s right -- to keep you safe and sound, boy  
I know you think you’re prepared for the world now  
And you think I’m naggy and a pest  
You might wish to go astray

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
But-

**TYRIAN:**  
But for me, please stay  
Uncle knows best  
  
Uncle knows best  
Listen to me, Clover  
The outside world is best to fear  
Uncle knows best  
This tower’s your salvation  
You won’t find any better than here  
  
In the outside world  
I cannot protect you   
From those who want   
Your semblance’s gifts

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
No!

**TYRIAN (SPOKEN):**  
Yes!

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
But-

**TYRIAN:**  
Waiting outside  
Are crooks with pointy teeth  
Please stop, no more, don’t do this to me  
I am right here  
I’ll never neglect you  
Clover, here’s what I suggest  
Save your face  
And know your place  
Uncle knows best

But who am I to say what’s best for you?  
Maybe you should leave this tower now  
I only wonder what it is I’ll tell your father  
When I die from a crushed broken heart  
  
Guess you won’t miss our morning breakfasts  
And from our sweet ‘good nights,’ you need a rest  
But out there you’ll see  
No one cares for you like me  
Uncle knows best

Uncle knows best  
I promised your father  
You would never come to harm  
But if you leave these walls  
Something creepy that crawls  
Will make off with your whole arm

Trust me when I say  
Your charms and wits won’t save you  
You’re too soft and rather plain  
Plus, to be honest  
You’re not the sharpest of tools  
I’m just saying cuz I wuv you

Uncle understands  
I am here just for you  
All I have is one request

**TYRIAN (SPOKEN):**  
Clover

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
Yes?

**TYRIAN (SPOKEN):**  
Don’t ever ask to leave this tower again

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
Yes, Uncle Tyrian

**TYRIAN (SPOKEN):**  
You know your dear old uncle loves you, right?

**CLOVER (SPOKEN):**  
And I love him, too

**TYRIAN (SPOKEN):**  
Such a good boy

**TYRIAN (SINGING):**  
Let’s make it clear  
You should stay here  
Uncle knows best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! See you in the next update! Reviews of any kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I often say these chapters just barely come out on time, but BOY do I mean it this week! XD
> 
> I hope you like it all the same!

Qrow Branwen’s life was full of things that made him feel alive.

The splash of water that hit his face as he washed up for the day made him feel alive. 

The touch of hot eggs on his tongue after spending the first hour of his day hungry made him feel alive. 

The wind in his face while he pondered over exactly how he’d spend his day made him feel alive.

But there was nothing that made Qrow feel more alive quite like an escape after a successful heist.

Qrow could hear his heart pumping in his chest like a hammer against a nail as he and Mercury crossed the threshold between the kingdom’s capital and the forest.

...There were worse ways to end one’s morning.

Guards were on their tails -- close to a dozen of them, with more joining by the minute.

Gods, was this village packed to the brim with guards.

Though Qrow was confident he was smarter than the lot of them, he knew intelligence only meant so much when one was face to face with a dozen of them at the same time.

Thankfully though, if everything continued well with this escape, he wouldn’t be put in such a position.

One of the features of the forest they traversed through was a series of splitting paths, plentiful roads that went every which way. 

Qrow took pride in being halfway decent at navigating them.

A fork in the road emerged relatively early into their rush through the forest. 

“You go left! I’ll go right!” Qrow called out to Mercury, gesturing to their respective paths with his head as he spoke.

“And leave you alone with that brooch?” Mercury sneered. “Not a chance.”

Qrow bit his lip.

Damnit.

He was hoping that would work, but hey -- that was life.

It sure as hell didn’t mean he wouldn’t find an opportunity to ditch him sooner or later.

Quickly, Qrow directed them both on the right most path, and then on the left most path in the fork that followed not long after the first.

When they were far enough down their new path, Qrow ushered them towards a small clearing. He knew the real chase wasn’t over quite yet, but a successful escape necessitated taking breaks when they could afford to be taken. After all, who knew when their next chance to breathe would be?

Qrow pushed his left hand into one of the nearby trees as he caught his breath.

He looked at Mercury. The kid was far more winded than he was -- his whole form pressed up against the tree he rested against as he huffed labored breaths one after the other. That said, Qrow didn’t delude himself into thinking now was the best time to make a clean getaway from him with the brooch -- Mercury was tired, but he wasn’t that tired.

No, his exit plan would reveal itself soon.

It wasn’t that Qrow wasn’t one to share when it was called for. He didn't trust many, especially in his line of work, but when he partnered up with someone, he gave and was given his fair share without complaint. It was just how his kind operated -- almost like a loyalty among savagery. 

But Mercury...was different. He may not have had a long-standing reputation that matched Qrow’s, but he was garnering something of one for himself nevertheless. His schemes were growing more ambitious. Sure, he stole meals, trinkets, small pieces of jewelry, pocket change -- all of the regular things thieves stole. But he was also going after bigger things from men and women in power, and only in the short span of a few weeks.

And yet, his own situation never seemed to change. He seemed to live the same way as he ever did -- stealing the same old paltry sums day after day. No one who pilfered the things he did would ever get back to that kind of work in anything resembling a hurry, but Mercury didn’t seem to ever take a day off, nor would he ever offer up an explanation as to why.

That meant he was working for someone, and whoever it was wasn’t too keen on sharing all that much of the profits of whatever heist he was pulling.

With money like this on the line, Qrow wasn’t about to settle for chump change...that is, if Mercury or whoever Mercury was working for was all that willing to give him anything at all.

Yes, something about Mercury’s current situation that told Qrow in no uncertain terms that as far as he was concerned, only one of them was leaving this scheme with the brooch and its asking price on their person, and it was going to be him. 

Well, Qrow guessed they’d see about that soon enough.

Suddenly, Qrow felt a sharp burst of pain in his ring finger, cutting his thoughts short. Qrow winced. He recognized the source of the pain instantly -- a paper cut. 

Carefully, without moving, he then glided his pinky finger over the surface it rested on. 

Indeed, it was paper -- smooth, yet lumpy as a result of the bark it rested on.

Qrow turned around to have a look at the paper. He had an idea of what he might see -- there were only so many reasons a sheet of paper would be attached to a tree in the middle of the woods.

But what he had no idea about was exactly how bad what was exposed on the paper would be.

There, against the tree, were wanted posters -- among the many that resided on the tree and its nearby neighbors was one for Mercury, and one for himself.

Qrow studied his poster. 

It couldn’t be…

It just couldn’t be…

“No, no, no,” Qrow said, starting out with panicked mutters and ending far louder. 

Mercury, clearly unaware of the posters, turned to look at him, a questioning eyebrow raised. 

“This is bad,” Qrow continued to say, pointing to the posters. “This is really, really bad.” He then walked up to the poster, glaring at the single most egregious part.

Remnant could be a cruel place to live -- he knew that well -- but the kingdom really crossed a line this time.

“They’ve seriously got to stop listing me as a thief!” Qrow huffed, pointing out the error to Mercury. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold!” He turned to the poster once more, poking it angrily with his finger as if it could answer for its markings. “I’m a bandit! Ban-dit! It’s not that hard!” 

Qrow turned to Mercury, incredulous at the audacity of Remnant’s lazy poster makers, only to be met with the single dryest look he’d ever received in his life.

“Seriously?” Mercury said, his voice absolutely deadpan. “This is what you’re focusing on now? And as I said before, thieves and bandits are the same.”

“No, they’re not!” Qrow looked back to the poster. “And they also got my hair wrong. It’s not that messy!”

“Yes, they are, and yeah -- it really is,” Mercury pointed out, snorting. Qrow was about to retort, but before he could Mercury shushed him. 

“No, you sh-!”

Mercury shushed him again, causing Qrow to glare at him. “They’re getting closer. Break time’s over.”

Focused completely on his mission once more, Qrow nodded, and off he and Mercury ran deeper into the forest.

Minutes upon minutes -- at least twenty of them -- passed as the two of them tried to get away from the kingdom’s guards.

Qrow had to be honest with himself -- he was good enough at navigating the forest, but even he had his failings the further he got into the thick of it. Once he was deep enough into the firest, much like he and Mercury now were, his knowledge ran a bit thin, and he elected to take random paths to throw his pursuers off his scent.

However, that type of decision making came with its own drawbacks.

One of those drawbacks wasted little time making itself known through a dead end.

A cliff, one too tall and too smooth for either of them to climb on their own stood between the two of them and the rest of their escape.

Crap.

They couldn’t turn back -- the guards were getting too close to safely do so, and while none of them were geniuses, they weren’t idiots either. If they tried to hide, they’d be found.

That meant the only way out was up.

Qrow looked at the cliff. Neither of them could climb it alone...but one of them could with a lift from the other.

He turned to Mercury, who clearly had reached the same conclusion.

“Give me a boost,” Qrow said. 

Mercury gave him a flat look.

“Give me the satchel.”

Qrow returned the dry look. 

“You have some real trust issues, you know that, right?” he shot back, a deadpan tone.

Mercury simply shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call watching my ass around a thief, then sure -- I have trust issues. Now, hand over the satchel.”

Qrow was about to argue once again that there was a difference between thieves and bandits, but then he got an idea in his head.

How about instead of telling Mercury the difference...he showed him?

Without letting his face betray him, he took a good look at Mercury.

Yeah...he could pull off what he was thinking of.

Just as Mercury saw it, Qrow did too -- only one of them was leaving this scheme with its prize in hand, and now, Qrow had just the means of making sure it was him.

Looks like he found his opportunity.

Qrow forced out a grunt as he passed Mercury the satchel, to which Mercury smirked at, clearly satisfied with the apparent results of his ultimatum -- the overly cocky bastard. Only after attaching the satchel to his person did Mercury at last give Qrow the chance to climb him up.

As Qrow made his way up Mercury’s form, he made sure to keep his movements slow and in a way that would cause a nice deal of pain. After all, if Mercury’s focus was on his pain, it would be away from a certain satchel and the brooch that was held in it.

“Can you hurry up?” Mercury snarled through grit teeth.

“Do you want to get out of here or not?” Qrow shot back. “If I fall, it’s over for both of us, so shut up and make sure I don’t lose my balance.”

Mercury groaned, and just as he did, Qrow undid the satchel from his person.

And with that, the distractor had become the distracted.

Qrow accelerated his way up the rest of Mercury, much to Mercury’s evident relief. From atop him, Qrow was able to grab onto the top of the cliff relatively easily. He pulled himself up, at last relieving the both of them of their awkward situation.

His help -- albeit reluctant -- made Qrow feel just a little bad about leaving Mercury to deal with another awkward situation -- his arrest by the royal guards. 

But hey -- crime didn’t pay...unless you could pass the punishment along, that is.

Then it could pay quite a lot.

“Now pull me up,” Mercury demanded.

Qrow smirked at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “My hands are full.”

There were few treasures in all of Remnant that could come close to the look on Mercury’s face as Qrow showed him the satchel, and Qrow relished the sight of it.

“You see,” he continued, “this is the difference between a bandit and a thief. So, I’ll be taking this satchel with me, and you’ll be taking a valuable lesson about the nuances of words with you. I think in our own ways, we’ll both go home richer for the experience.”

With that, Qrow took off in the direction opposite the cliff, with shouts of aggravation and threats from his former partner right behind him like the wind flowing against his back. Mercury had seemingly tried to launch some sort of projectile in Qrow’s direction with his boots, but without any visual of him to help him aim, it was pointless.

Still, he did get pretty close.

Gods, did a successful heist make him feel alive!

And as the call of another group of approaching guards and their horses entered his earshot with a very close proximity, Qrow felt even more alive.

Qrow could hear Harriet’s voice calling out in the distance.

“Vine! Marrow! Elm! Don’t let Branwen get away!”

Looks like she’d managed to escape from the support beam.

That must’ve been a fun job for the unfortunate sap who had to free her.

Judging by the sounds both close to her and far from her, Harriet was stationed on a horse, clearly in no place to utilize her semblance at the moment, or not fully, in any case.

Otherwise, Qrow knew he would’ve been good as dead long before now.

Qrow ran further into the forest. While he didn’t seem to have to worry about Harriet and her semblance, the rest of the Ace Ops and their semblances could prove to be quite the challenge to contend with, and he’d had more than his fair share of obstacles for the day, thank you very much.

He backed himself up, moving to lean onto the vine-covered stone wall behind him to get his bearings as he planned his next move.

However, what he thought was a stone wall...wasn’t a wall at all, and Qrow’s form fell into the canopy of vines.

A hushed yelp couldn’t help but surface from Qrow’s throat, though he rushed to silence himself.

What the hell?

But Qrow immediately realized what he’d inadvertently stumbled upon: A hiding spot, and a damn good one too. 

If he hadn’t expected to find it, the other Ace Ops might not. Even still though, Qrow thought it better to settle deeper into the newly discovered hideaway. 

On the other side of the vine canopy he entered through, there was a small, dark cave. Qrow snuck through it, cautious of any twigs that could step on that would give his location away. When he was at the end of it, a lush clearing exposed itself.

And there, standing right before him in the center of the clearing...was a tower.

Qrow studied the tower closely as he slowly approached it.

The tower was tall, about forty feet so if he had to guess. Graced with a quaint purple roof, it sat on a small hill with greenery running up the ivory bricks that it was composed of. 

He should’ve turned back -- after all, Gods only knew who was the kind of person to live in a giant tower in the middle of nowhere, but the distant, yet still audible sounds of horses and calls from the Ace Ops kept Qrow moving forward towards the tower.

It wasn’t the most conventional choice of a hideout, but it would have to do for now.

As Qrow continued to get closer to it, he noticed that he couldn’t see a door at the tower’s base, and the path beside it showed no sign of one on the other side either.

However, while there was no entry point to the tower at its base, there was a single open window at its top.

Well...the day had already proven itself to be a good one for climbing -- it wouldn’t hurt to keep at it.

Qrow took out Harbinger, keeping the weapon in its unfolded state. The tower was strong -- of that he had no doubt -- but there was space between the binding of the bricks for him to grip onto, and with Harbinger’s assistance, his grip wouldn’t be compromised, even if his hand's grip faltered.

Slowly and carefully, Qrow inched his way up the tower. 

He’d climbed all manner of buildings before in his line of work, but this tower was the biggest structure he’d ever scaled. The air felt just a bit thinner the higher up he got, and the wind that tickled the hairs behind his neck silently advised him to not turn around and take in the view, not while he was still climbing it. Qrow had no objections to taking that advice.

Fifteen long minutes passed before he was at last atop the tower, and Qrow wasted no time jumping through the window to safety. 

Qrow took a moment to catch his breath. 

That was one hell of a climb he’d just made.

As he closed the window, Qrow took a brief look outside it. There was no sign of the Ace Ops, not even the faint sounds of their horses.

He gazed at his satchel, relieved as he felt its sole trinket through the bag’s fabric.

He’d done it.

The brooch was at last all his and his alone, and Qrow Branwen had seldom felt more alive before in his life than he did in that moment.

And then, with a pull from his suddenly bound ankles, he fell to the floor on his side, with wooden planks being the last thing he saw before hitting his head and succumbing to the subsequent darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but regardless of whether or not you do, I hope you have a great day!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter time!!!!! ...I'm gonna be honest: You guys are going to fucking KILL me for this one... And all I can say is...I’m not sorry. At all.
> 
> Anyways, enjoyyyyy!!

Clover Callows didn’t really panic -- he wasn’t the panicking sort.

Besides it just being a part of his personality, in his life, there was very little to panic about.

But when Clover heard the signs of someone climbing his tower’s walls, someone that was absolutely not his uncle, Clover couldn’t help but panic just a little. 

Well, just a little was probably a bit of an understatement.

How was he found, and who was it that was about to meet him in his tower?

Something that Clover could tell was metallic made scraping noises as it brushed against as well as in the spaces between the tower’s bricks. 

Whoever was climbing up the tower had a weapon.

He remembered what Uncle Tyrian would often say about those outside the tower and what their weapons were capable of about as well as he remembered his own name.

That was something worth panicking over.

Still, even as he panicked, Clover remained careful at the notion of this stranger. With everything on the line -- his safety, Raven’s safety, and his uncle’s when he returned, he could hardly afford not to be. Cautious as to not step on any of the tower’s squeaky wooden planks, Clover rose from the chair he sat on, slinked up to where Kingfisher sat to grab it, and stealthily backed up from the window, hiding himself in the darkness the raised sun finally allowed the tower to have again.

Clover felt his heart beat in time with the sounds the stranger made as they made their way up the tower’s walls bit by bit.

Whoever it was that was about to enter...they seemed strong…

What was he going to do?

He thought back to Uncle Tyrian’s words.

Uncle Tyrian told Clover so often that he couldn’t hope to successfully fight against someone from outside the tower. That was probably true.

But all the same, he had to do something. What was the alternative?

With a loud grunt, the stranger seemed to complete their climb. A visual of this stranger was finally given as he climbed inside the window, but because the stranger closed it just as quickly as he entered through it, all Clover could see was their silhouette through the tiniest bit of escaped light. 

The stranger had clearly not noticed Clover, instead, more interested in the closed window as well as whatever it was that was in his hands.

It looked like a bag.

A story that his uncle told Clover long ago sprang to mind -- a story of a child who snuck away from home and was suffocated by a kidnapper with just a bag at their disposal.

Was that what this intruder was planning to do to him?

Oh Gods, it was far too possible for Clover’s liking.

What happened next was a borderline blur -- Clover knew his mind somehow thought it through in the millisecond before it occurred, but as it was happening, it was all so fast that he could barely process it all as it took place.

Clover cast Kingfisher’s line towards the stranger’s ankles, moving himself in just the right way so that the line would wrap itself around the intruder’s ankles and hook back onto itself. 

Then, he pulled and watched as the stranger fell on his side and hit the floor with an almost deafening thud.

Clover wished he could say that not a sound left his mouth as he watched the intruder fall to the floor.

However, the squeal that Raven absolutely heard didn’t come out of thin air.

Unable to fully believe what he’d just witnessed despite having the best seat in the world to it, Clover simply blinked.

Careful to not fully surrender his element of surprise, Clover stood silently in place for a moment with a vice-like grip on Kingfisher’s rod, waiting to see if the stranger would move.

He didn’t, and when the stranger’s body limply sunk from its side to the floor face first, it was clear that that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

Clover rushed over to the intruder’s body, thankful that a sliver of sunlight that managed to pass through the tower’s shut window finally gave the intruder’s silhouette a true form.

The light that touched the stranger’s face made it clear that the stranger was a man.

He’d never seen another man before besides his uncle, and never one even close to his own age. 

And he’d attacked him…

Oh Gods, was he even alive?!

Clover knelt down and looked at the stranger’s stomach, hoping for some kind of movement.

Thankfully, a gentle, normal movement was exactly what he saw, as the man’s chest rose and fell with his breathing.

That meant the man was still alive.

Clover let himself sigh, relieved, and after thanking his deities, turned to examine the man. 

The man was tall, about Clover’s height, if he had to guess. He had a thin form about him, with long legs. Messy wisps of black hair covered his head, concealing his face, and he sported a grey shirt with a red vest over it, black pants, and brown boots.

All in all, he didn’t look too bad -- healthy, though he looked like he could absolutely stand to eat and sleep more.

At least the latter sentiment was somewhat being addressed right now.

Clover then remembered himself, blinking and shaking his head as he stood up and took a step back. 

This man came from the world outside his tower. That meant he was a threat, and a threat that needed to be evaluated so he could plan his next move.

What was his next step towards doing that?

Signs…

Yes, he just had to look for the signs.

While Clover knew all humans had the potential to be quite dangerous when faced with the prospect of having his semblance all to themselves, he knew that there were some humans that were simply more dangerous than others. It only made sense. After asking, his uncle had told him the signs of the absolute most dangerous ones, the ones who would attack him regardless of his semblance without a second thought.

Pointy teeth were featured in many of Uncle Tyrian’s stories.

Did the stranger have them?

Well, there was only one way to find out…

Clover turned to Raven, who had been by his side from the moment he knocked the stranger out.

“Keep an eye out on him.”

Raven gave a small, affirmative squawk before turning to the man, glaring at him.

Satisfied, Clover quickly went to the kitchen table and grabbed a butter knife before returning to Raven and the man. Clover knelt down once more in front of the man, placed the handle of the butter knife against the man’s inner lip, and then lifted it.

No -- the man’s teeth weren’t pointy.

They were just like Clover’s and his uncle’s -- mostly flat, save for their tiny bumps.

The teeth Uncle Tyrian described as pointy were far sharper than those the stranger had.

Well, that turned out to be a good sign of how dangerous the man truly was, but Clover also knew it wasn’t the only sign.

Weapons...that was another thing he knew he had to look for. 

Half of the threat a human could pose came from their strength, but the other half came from their weapon. 

Clover knew for a fact that the man had his weapon on him -- he’d heard it on the stranger’s way up the tower.

The weapon that the man had -- a scythe, if the crescent shape was anything to go by -- was at his side.

A scythe...now that was an odd choice of a weapon...and one that absolutely spoke of dangerous omens...

But despite clearly using it to climb the tower, it was now sheathed in its leather scabbard.

That...was another good sign.

Clover didn’t really know what to make of that…

But before he could think on that, or even check for the next sign of his potential dangers, he was suddenly stopped in his tracks.

One of the stranger’s eyes opened.

Clover wanted to say he didn’t panic and let the man wake up as he normally would have to question him.

However, Clover wasn’t a liar.

His movements happened in what for the stranger was probably a flash, and for Clover, was somehow even faster than that -- Clover flipped Kingfisher so that its denser rod was the end held up high and smacked him over the head with it, knocking him out once more instantly.

...It wasn’t the calmest of responses, but Clover argued with himself that it was the correct one.

What was he going to do with this man?

He couldn’t let him escape -- not when he knew where the tower was and had no reason to protect its privacy. Even if Clover took his weapon away, the man might have had allies.

They’d find him, and this safe haven his father had so lovingly provided for him would be destroyed…

No, Clover wasn’t about to let all that Uncle Tyrian fought for fall to ruin just like that. 

He’d just have to keep him here until he could think of a plan to make sure when he did leave the tower, it would without a doubt be with a held tongue.

Clover grabbed one of the stranger’s feet and pulled him until they reached the closest closet. His gaze shifted between the stranger and the closet door a few times before turning to Raven.

“Shouldn’t be too hard, right?” he asked her with something resembling a self assured snort in his voice.

Raven squawked, sarcasm somehow as clear as crystal, even through the mouth of a bird.

“Thanks for the support, Raven,” Clover snarked, giving her a facade of a deadpan look. He then took a deep breath, grabbed the stranger’s body, and got to work.

Even though he lived his entire life in a tower, Clover made sure that his body was in a healthy state, and he took pride in his physical strength. 

However, as he held the stranger’s body in his arms, that strength was tested more than it had been since he first tested out his pulley system.

It’s not that the man was heavy -- Clover could handle heavy -- it was the limpness of his body, partnered with all of his limbs falling and swinging as gravity commanded them to do that made the task of getting him into the narrow closet as annoying as it was. Not only that, but unfortunately, like all of his closets, this one was not only narrow, but also elevated, the bottom of it a couple of inches off the ground thanks to the decorative raised support at the closet’s base. That meant that in addition to pushing the stranger into the closet, he had to lift his limp body all the while, too. 

Additionally, while the man’s legs were initially bound up by Kingfisher, Clover reasoned that continuing to do that also meant that he had to balance Kingfisher on his person as well, so he reluctantly decided to free his legs from his weapon’s grasp, but kept it close to his person just in case.

This was going to be fun...

Clover started with the most obvious-seeming solution. He surrounded the man’s body with his arms and tried to push and lift him into the closet in one fell swoop.

However, gravity looked to take issue with that. The man’s body, slack from unconsciousness, proved to be too heavy, and when Clover lifted him to get him into the closet, the first half step he took knocked him off his balance, sending Clover falling on his back with the man’s form right atop him.

It took Clover longer than he’d like to admit it did to get back up before he tried again, but he did it all the same, and that’s what mattered.

Clover then lifted the stranger once again, but this time, pushed the man’s back against his own. Maybe, if he could push most of the stranger’s body into the closet that way, then he could get the rest of it in more easily, and his back would make for more supportive leverage.

Things got off to a good start...that is, until it came time for the lifting. With Clover’s back to the closet, he couldn’t make out when it was that he had to start lifting the man’s body, causing him to be late. The stranger’s feet hooked onto the bottom of the closet, and Clover found himself unable to undo the hooking. As he tried to, he once more lost his balance and fell down to the ground. 

As a consequence of the fall, the man’s unconscious face fell beside his head when that happened, and as Clover moved to get himself off the floor and try this again, he couldn’t help but look at it. The man had two well defined brows, a strong, prominent jawline, and a small nose. His expression was soft, as one would expect from someone unconscious, but a little harsh too. It only made sense -- after all, this man had now been knocked out twice, but Clover couldn’t help but think that despite how unorthodox these circumstances were, this wasn’t an expression that was all that foreign to him.

What kind of existence could lead that kind of expression to be anything resembling a norm?

Despite a sense of curiousness that came with the prospect of knowing another human for the first time since his infancy, Clover wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

That said, there was a handsomeness to this stranger, Clover had to admit -- a rugged, scrappy kind of beauty that was easy on the eyes and made Clover delay himself for just a little bit as he started to get back up to get a nice look at. 

However, as Uncle Tyrian had told him many a time before in the past, wherever beauty made itself known, ugliness did too, and if he learned of Clover’s semblance...that ugliness would probably reveal itself in all the time it would take Clover to blink.

It wasn’t a pleasant reality -- in fact, it was one his parents paid the ultimate price for living in -- but it was a true one all the same.

Clover took a deep breath. He had to get this done, for his safety, for Raven’s, and for his uncle’s too.

For this attempt, Clover combined the best elements of his previous approaches. He had the man face him while he used his own shoulder as leverage. With the ability to see where he was going, he was able to lift up the stranger’s form at just the right time, and push him in. 

However, like the frigid air in winter, his enemy gravity showed up again to complicate things. As soon as he got in the closet, the man’s knees started to buckle, and he started to fall in on Clover.

“No,” Clover grunted as he fought to keep the stranger where he was. “Stop. Stay there. Come on. Not a word from you, Raven! Not. A. Word.” With his current task underway, he couldn’t look at Raven, but he was willing to bet that she was getting some joy out of watching him struggle like this. She liked that kind of humor, and just as he felt her stare on his back at breakfast, so did he feel it now. On some level, he couldn’t blame her for her reaction. After all, fresh entertainment in their tower wasn’t always the easiest thing to come by.

It still didn’t make that inclination a nice one.

Neither did the sassy squawk that left her beak.

“Smart ass,” he scoffed.

Yet another squawk met his comment.

Clover kept struggling to keep the man in place, and after minutes of combatting his unconscious form push-for-push, a lucky push pushed him far enough into the closet for Clover to shut it fully.

As soon as the closet’s doors slammed shut, Clover grabbed a nearby chair and stuffed it under the door. 

Now, the man was trapped.

A man was trapped in his closet...

Oh Gods…

“Okay, okay,” Clover said, trying in vain to calm himself as he backed away, taking hold of Kingfisher once more. “I’ve got a person in my closet.” He looked to Raven and they shared a look.

“I’ve got a person in my closet,” he repeated, shock ringing through his voice in the same way music ringed through a bell. He stopped moving and looked at a mirror that he now stood beside.

Then...as Clover stood opposite the locked closet with his weapon in hand, he realized something...an implication of his actions that until that moment, he hadn’t even considered.

Clover’s tower had been intruded. His and Uncle Tyrian’s greatest fear had come to life right before Clover’s eyes...and Clover had won.

That meant that against all odds -- against everything Uncle Tyrian thought he could do, Clover could, in fact, protect himself.

Clover smiled at himself.

“I’ve got a person in my closet!” Clover turned back to Raven, who gave an amused squawk in answer to the laughter that bubbled just under the surface of Clover’s words. 

If he could face this man and win, well, then how hard could a single day trip possibly be, right?

He looked at the mirror, and dreamed about how he’d tell Uncle Tyrian about this. “Still think I’m just a naive, funny boy, uncle?” he bragged to his imaginary uncle in his pretend scenario. “Well, look at me and my little fishing pole, now! So what do you say we head towards those lights? Don’t worry -- I’ll protect you.” He smirked to himself and flipped Kingfisher by its handle. 

However, Clover got a little lost in his fun, for the trajectory of his catch was off for the first time in years, letting his rod hit his head and fall to the floor.

As Clover moved to pick it up, he noticed something over by the window where he’d first fought against the stranger.

There was a bag on the floor.

Clover went over to where the man first fell, opened the window to better see, and carefully took hold of the bag.

Upon getting a feel for the bag, Clover took comfort in the fact that it clearly wasn’t intended to suffocate him -- yet another good sign.

No, it wasn’t a bag, but a satchel...and there was something in it -- just a single, angular object, no bigger than his hand, that Clover could feel through the satchel’s fabric.

Clover reached into the satchel and pulled out the object. 

What came out of the bag was something unlike anything Clover had ever seen before. 

As Clover put together exactly what it was he was looking at, he couldn’t help but marvel at how the shiny precious green stones the object was composed of glimmered against the light of day.

He rearranged the object in his hands.

The back of the object -- a flat, metal, ebony surface -- had a clasp on it.

Clover made his way back to the mirror and without putting it on, arranged the back of the it so that the clasp would align horizontally with his shirt. 

So it was just a pin?

It was a gorgeous pin, but a pin nonetheless. 

Not only that, but while it was made of gorgeous jewels, it was crooked. The pin was likely supposed to be a cross -- a symbol from the kingdom he and his parents lived in before they died, according to Uncle Tyrian -- but it was poorly aligned, so that the top of it was a gap of space rather than one of the cross’ points.

“Awful craftsmanship,” Clover commented, with Raven giving an agreeing squawk.

“Clover!”

Clover and Raven looked at each other. 

That voice -- its sound, its tone, the timing -- meant one thing, and one thing alone: Uncle Tyrian was home. 

A smile overcame Clover’s features.

If Uncle Tyrian was home, that meant Clover could try to convince him to take him to the lights again, and unlike earlier today, he’d have actual proof that he could keep himself safe in the outside world.

His uncle was a smart man -- he’d called himself as much many a time in the past, and Clover knew it to be true. He’d be receptive to this kind of evidence -- he just had to be.

The lights...suddenly, a trip to see them was a possibility once more...

In fact, with evidence like the man in his closet, they were more in his sights now than ever before.

He was going to make it happen -- finally, he had exactly what -- or rather, who -- he needed to do so!

As Clover approached the window to greet his uncle for the second time today, he took pride in the fact that for the first time today, he wasn’t panicking anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but even if you don't I hope you have a kickass day!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyyyy!!!!
> 
> I don't have anything to say...so enjoy!

Clover was often one to be ready for things. 

A lot of that came from the predictability of his life, and it couldn’t be helped when one followed a routine as constant as his was. 

However, as he’d discovered just under an hour ago, it turned out that he was ready for even the most unexpected of things, the things that formerly ruled his nightmares with an iron fist.

Of course, he likely wasn’t ready for everything the world both inside and outside the tower had to offer -- he’d probably find out soon enough how true that sentiment was if the next conflict he had to face panned out the way he wanted it to -- but Clover knew he could learn how to be ready for those things easily enough.

He’d captured a man and trapped him in his closet. 

Despite seeing and doing that himself, it was still more than a little hard to believe.

Real, tangible proof that he could survive in the outside world now existed but spitting distance from where he presently stood as he prepared to greet his uncle.

This was going to happen.

He stuffed the satchel and the pin that had accompanied it into a nearby flower pot before turning to see a grinning Uncle Tyrian.

“Clover!” Uncle Tyrian called from below, a singsong tone in his voice. “Come pick me up! I have a surprise for you!”

Well, what a coincidence.

“So do I!” Clover said, positively beaming as he finished setting up the pulley.

“I’m pretty sure mine’s bigger!”

“I seriously doubt that,” Clover mumbled while pulling, confident that his uncle didn’t hear the words he just spoke. It was for the best, after all. He’d already been enough of a braggart at breakfast -- anything more than that would’ve been overkill, or at least it would’ve been to his uncle.

Personally, he found some harmless bragging to be fun, but he guessed it wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Besides, who knew how much bragging Uncle Tyrian may or may not have had to deal with outside the tower. Maybe it really was overkill.

When his uncle was at last safely in the tower and the pulley was lowered once more, Clover turned to face him, only to have a small basket shoved into his arms. 

“Clover, just as I suggested earlier,” Uncle Tyrian said, “I went out and bought some eggs for you. Now, you can make a real breakfast for us! Imagine it -- eggs sunny side up, scrambled, boiled, made into some omelettes, or even a frittata, perhaps!” Uncle Tyrian paused to lick his lips at that last prospect. “My boy, the culinary world is your oyster! Surprise!”

Clover bit his lip.

Well, at least if Uncle Tyrian had to buy something like that now of all times, it was something that would still be good after their trip.

“This is great!” Clover said, trying to inject his voice with as much enthusiasm as he could muster at the subject. “So as I said, earlier, I have a surprise of my-”

“Did I tell you your father was quite the cook as well?” Uncle Tyrian interrupted as he lazily strutted around the tower. “Gods, you are so much like him -- me as well, but of the two of us -- lucky semblance or not -- I got the lion’s share of the family looks,” Uncle Tyrian teased as he landed by the mirror, looking at himself proudly. 

Clover didn’t appreciate being interrupted...again, but he felt it best not to mention it. The stranger wasn’t going anywhere -- even if he did, it would only serve to expedite the point he was going to make. Besides, keeping his uncle in a good mood as always was key to bettering his odds of getting what he wanted. 

“To be fair, we don’t exactly look alike,” he joked right back as stepped next to his uncle, “so I’d argue I’m quite dashing myself in my own way.”

Without looking at Clover, Uncle Tyrian waved a dismissive hand. 

“What are you talking about? You have my ears.”

Clover looked at the mirror, honing in on his ears. He knew his uncle’s visage better than anyone else possibly could, and his ears were smaller and more angular than Clover’s ever were.

No, he didn’t think their ears were alike at all. 

Then again, the last time Tyrian pointed out the similarities they shared, it was in their chins.

Was this another one of his uncle’s jokes?

As often was the case, it was hard to tell.

Clover gave a polite chuckle, but kept it low enough so that if it wasn’t a joke, he wouldn’t get the awkward look Uncle Tyrian gave him whenever he made such a mistake.

“So,” Clover said, walking over to the closet that held the stranger, “getting back to what I was about to say, Uncle Tyrian. I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

Immediately, Uncle Tyrian’s eyes narrowed and a frown threatened to sprout any minute from his face’s presently neutral expression.

“Please tell me you’re not still talking about the stars?” he said, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose with his left index finger.

“I’m going somewhere with this, but yes,” Clover admitted.

“Because I thought we had left on the same page about that,” he returned, noticeably harshly. “The outside world? Dangerous? You don’t want to hurt me, nor put yourself in danger? Do you remember?”

“Well, yes, I remember, and I know you think I can’t handle myself out there, bu-”

“Clover, I know you can’t handle yourself out there,” Uncle Tyrian retorted, putting an emphasis on the word ‘know’ that was heavier than the very tower they stood in.

Clover took a deep breath, trying to get over how annoyed he was at getting interrupted yet again.

“But if you would-”

“Then why are we talking about this again?” Uncle Tyrian grit, his frown now fully formed and well on its way to becoming something of a sneer, or even a glare.

Clover knew he was pushing his luck, but he had to try.

“It’s just that-”

“Clover,” Uncle Tyrian scolded.

“Please, ju-”

“Clover!”

Uncle Tyrian’s tone was getting louder and darker.

However, so was Clover’s impatience.

No, he couldn’t give up, not when he knew what he had and what it meant.

“Oh come on! Just list-”

“Enough!” Uncle Tyrian roared, now stomping closer to Clover. “Enough about the lights! Gods, boy! Get it through your thick, boneheaded skull that you will never be ready to leave this tower, especially not for some meaningless lights! We’re done talking about this!” 

With each word he spoke, he got nearer and nearer to Clover, with every step matching the harshness and nastiness of his words. What’s worse were his fists, both of which were tightly clenched, and raised from his sides ever so slightly.

Clover took a step back, utterly speechless.

He was ready for many a reaction that he would possibly get from Uncle Tyrian before he revealed his hand, but he wasn’t ready for that one…

A stressed sigh left Uncle Tyrian at that movement.

“Oh great,” he commiserated, backing away to the breakfast table and sitting down. “Now I’m the bad guy.”

Clover looked at Uncle Tyrian, then the closet, and then his shoes.

The man trapped in his closet and all that he meant…

It wasn’t going to be enough…

It was never going to be enough…

Clover’s heart sank like a knife in a sink.

What was he even doing?

To his uncle, he’d never be ready to so much as step outside his tower, and without the assistance surviving out in the world that his uncle could provide, he knew he’d never reach the floating lights. There were many things he may have been ready to do, but navigating the land outside of his tower on any level was not one of them. However, it was clear now that that assistance was something he wasn’t getting anytime soon.

Clover’s eyes floated back to the closet where the man still was, feeling resigned to his fate and now trying to figure out how he’d frame capturing the man in light of this conversation as to just avoid getting into trouble.

And then, he realized something.

It was true that he wasn’t getting his uncle’s assistance with his dream.

However, his uncle’s assistance was potentially no longer the only means of assistance he had at his disposal anymore.

The man in his closet was likely by no means friendly -- Clover wouldn’t delude himself into thinking otherwise. 

That said, just as his uncle exchanged money for the eggs he’d bought for them, those outside the tower were accustomed to the practice of making deals.

And right now, Clover had a rather nice bit of leverage over his closet’s unwitting occupant. 

He could still see the lights.

But if this was something he wanted to do, he’d need to be ready to deal with the stranger.

That meant getting rid of the one obstacle in his way -- his uncle.

Luckily, Clover had just the idea ready for how to do exactly that.

Clover took a deep breath. Apart from Raven’s existence, it wasn’t often that he lied to his uncle. He often had no reason to lie. 

However, as he grew up, he learned exactly how to best do so if the need for a lie ever truly arose.

Right now was proving to be such a time, but for as difficult as it would be, Clover knew he was ready for it.

“All I was going to say,” Clover said, trying to conceal the still very true fear and anguish that his uncle’s outburst left him with, “was that I know what I want for my birthday.”

Uncle Tyrian still looked more than just a bit on edge as he turned to Clover again. “And what’s that?” he said, his tone clearly exasperated. 

“New paint,” Clover said. He turned to his painting of himself watching the lights. “You’re right about the stars and leaving the tower -- it’s just not worth it.” Despite now knowing that the possibility wasn’t completely gone, those words were no easier to say than if they were true. “So instead, I’d love to paint something else here, something we can both enjoy. I was thinking of those beautiful paints I made from the shells you got me for my nineteenth birthday, and I thought those would make a nice present.”

“Clover, that’s a three day trip. I-” Uncle Tyrian looked like he had more to say, but held it in.

That was a good sign.

After a moment’s pause as he seemingly mulled it over, Uncle Tyrian sighed. “You always have to cry until you get whatever it is you want, don’t you?”

Normally, comments like those upset Clover. This one did, too. How could his uncle believe he’d ever be so cruel to him?

But for as much as he hated even implying that he agreed with the comment, Clover knew what fighting back too much could cost him, and this time, he was okay sucking up his pride for it.

“Please, uncle,” Clover begged, dodging the remark as deftly as he could. “It would mean the world to me.”

Uncle Tyrian seemed to stew on it for a moment before sighing once more.

“For you?” he said, petting Clover on his head. “Anything.”

Clover smiled as he leaned into the touch. “Thank you, uncle.”

“Now,” Uncle Tyrian said when the petting was done, “why don’t you make me a quick lunch and pack me up a nice basket for the trip?”

“Of course!”

Clover got to work. His uncle’s favorite style of eggs were relatively simple to cook, especially for him -- sunny side up. As he waited for the two eggs he prepared to fully cook, he retrieved a medium-sized basket and put a few pieces of fruit as well as some leftover rolls and jam from breakfast in there. He knew his uncle had enough money for an inn and a meal or two, but still did what he could to make sure he’d be safe from any bouts of hunger he might face.

By the time he was done loading the basket, the eggs were ready to go.

After serving them up to his uncle, he worked a bit more on the basket, putting in cutlery and a spare sweet or two they kept around the tower. When he was done, he left it by his uncle’s favorite cloak and sat down at the breakfast table opposite his uncle.

“So Clover,” Uncle Tyrian said after just barely swallowing a mouthful of eggs, “because I know you’re dying to ask me and I know you won’t let me leave the tower without it, lay it on me now. Where’s the list of things you want?”

For an instant, unready for that question, Clover just blinked at him.

Then it hit him, and it was all Clover could do to keep his face from reflecting the realization that would make no sense for him to have.

He didn’t think of it until Uncle Tyrian mentioned it, but indeed yes, such a list did exist, but that matter was something that made this trip different from the one his uncle had taken years ago. When Uncle Tyrian left for that trip, Clover had a list of things he wished his uncle would bring back, things from the outside world even besides the shells -- pinecones, pine needles, rocks from the beach, a bit of sand, some salt water from the ocean. Uncle Tyrian clearly felt they were harmless enough, so he brought most of them back to the tower for Clover to look at, admire, and study.

This time though, while there was a list that Clover had, it no longer mattered -- in just a few hours, he was finally going to see and feel those things for himself in person.

But his uncle didn’t know that, so he had to pretend that he didn’t either. 

And to help with that facade, he turned to his nightstand with the list he had at the ready from years and years of dreaming about a day that was now upon him, but in a completely unexpected way.

“Here you go, Uncle Tyrian. Thank you for asking.”

Uncle Tyrian looked at the list as he kept eating, making the occasional hum as he appraised Clover’s desires. A little bit of his egg’s yolk fell onto the list, and despite knowing that he’d soon probably be feeling the very substance that was listed on the spot where it landed, Clover couldn’t help but wince.

That wince granted him a deadpan look with a raised eyebrow from Uncle Tyrian. 

“The phrase is ‘there’s no use crying over spilled milk,’ not ‘spilled eggs,’” he said, just before rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry -- I can still read it. I’ll be sure to get you your...nose. Well, you don’t really need that, unless it’s someone else’s nose you’re after, that is.” Clover had no idea as to how to respond to that, even as his uncle burst out laughing. Upon realizing that, Uncle Tyrian settled down just a little, though only that much. He was still laughing quite a lot, clearing his eye of a tear with just a single finger. “It’s a joke, my boy. Really, you need to get past this oversensitivity of yours. It’s a good thing you’re not leaving here, because out there, that would get you killed in an instant. It annoys me, and others don’t have the benefit of knowing you well enough to care one way or the other.”

Clover faked a small laugh and smile. “You’re probably right,” he forced. 

Finally done with his eggs, Uncle Tyrian walked over to Clover and patted his cheek.

“Once I get back, we’ll keep working on it, I promise you.”

Clover was sure his uncle would keep to his word.

If only, knowing his uncle’s methods of doing exactly that, Clover could muster any great deal of excitement at that prospect. 

Hopefully -- Gods hopefully -- after their individual trips, they’d both return in better, brighter, and bolder spirits.

“Am I all packed?” Uncle Tyrian asked, now changing his direction from Clover to the basket Clover prepared for him. 

Clover blinked to focus himself. 

“Yes, uncle,” he said. “You’re all good to go.”

“Fantastic! Now, I won’t be back for three long days, Clover. Are you sure you’ll be alright here, all by yourself?” Clover hated how drawn out Uncle Tyrian spoke as he brought up their separation. The way he spoke made the agony he felt for it very well known, and Clover couldn’t help but feel that way too. It made Clover want to stop this trip before it happened, to tell Uncle Tyrian not to leave, though he was somewhat reluctantly able to keep that desire at bay.

Gods, why couldn’t Uncle Tyrian just let them both go on a trip together?

It would’ve been so much easier and less risky that way than it now had to be.

Well, it was what was going to be done, nonetheless.

“I know I’m safe as long as I’m here,” he answered.

Uncle Tyrian smiled at Clover. “You know your dear old uncle loves you, right?”

“And I love him, too.”

Clover pulled Uncle Tyrian in for a hug, one returned very lightly.

If his uncle hugged him with anything resembling tightness, Clover bet he’d never let him go.

Uncle Tyrian was really going to miss him, wasn’t he?

Well, life-changing trip on the horizon or not, that made two of them.

Clover readied the pulley and carefully lowered his uncle to the tower’s base when it was ready. As always, Clover saw him off until he could see Uncle Tyrian’s form no more.

Once he disappeared behind the canopy of vines, Clover counted ninety full seconds. Based on past experiences, if Uncle Tyrian forgot something, he’d likely turn back in that time frame.

Those ninety seconds passed more slowly than any single instance of ninety seconds passed in all of his life, and he’d have been lying if he said he didn’t wince at least once out of nothing more than pure impatience. 

When they were finally over, he sighed in relief. 

Clover grabbed Kingfisher and exchanged a determined look with Raven, who was now waiting by the closet. With Kingfisher in his left hand, and the top of the still barricading chair in his right, he prepared himself for his confrontation with the stranger on the other side of the closet’s door.

He could do this.

Carefully, his right arm gently maneuvered the chair so that it was no longer in his way and then stepped back.

The closet door, even though it was no longer withheld from opening as a result of the chair, remained shut. Clover listened for any sound that the stranger was awake, and when he heard none, he took a deep breath and took Kingfisher into both of his hands.

With a careful swing, he cast Kingfisher’s hook onto the closet door and pulled it so both doors flung completely open.

For a second, nothing happened, but then, the still unconscious body of the man fell out.

Clover approached the man, searching for a sign that he was secretly awake.

Once more, he found nothing. 

With the coast clear on both his uncle’s and the man’s fronts, he set Kingfisher aside for a moment, and began his next task.

Putting the stranger in a chair turned out to be far easier than putting him in a closet. 

Who knew?

Once the man was secured in the chair so that his limp body would absolutely not cause him to fall out of it, Clover reclaimed Kingfisher and started wrapping its reel over every biological means of escape the stranger could possibly have, with his legs, arms, and torso, thoroughly covered and bound. When he was at last satisfied, he used what was left of Kingfisher’s line to pull the stranger to the center of the tower, lighting it so that only Clover and Raven would have a complete knowledge of the tower’s layout.

Now the only question he had was how he was to go about waking him up.

Raven got a look in her eye -- one Clover knew the meaning of well. 

She knew just how to wake the stranger up.

She’d done this to Clover more times than he could count on days where he was either late with her lunch or dinner or just snored too loudly. 

It was absolutely going to work.

As Clover lifted her onto the man’s shoulder, he gave her a look that pleaded for her to be careful, but still showed trust in her judgment.

After cautiously approaching the stranger’s face, Raven leaned her head into his ear.

Once Raven was far enough into the ear, Clover saw her body inflate with a fresh inhale.

A single, stark beat passed before she released the shrillest, loudest squawk that she could.

It was a good thing Uncle Tyrian was well out of earshot by the time Clover put this plan into motion -- a squawk of Raven’s that was that loud had the potential to wake up the dead.

But while the target was not dead -- the squawk fulfilled its objective, and two small bursts of crimson came into view as the man opened his eyes.

And this time, there was not a doubt in Clover’s mind that he was ready to meet those eyes with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of any and every kind are appreciated, but even if you don't, have an awesome day!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! It is finally, FINALLY here!!!! Qrow Branwen and Clover Callows/Ebi are going to at last TALK TO EACH OTHER!!!!

Unorthodox situations were anything but unorthodox to Qrow Branwen.

Being a bandit meant thinking on one’s feet, but the world, especially the world’s criminal underbelly, was a strange place to live in, one that moved in perpetuity. So in the scuffles of his day-to-day goings on, Qrow got used to inserting, disguising, and adapting himself into some bizarre situations, and some of those situations extended between one day and the next.

Qrow had woken up to shrieking sounds before. 

Qrow had woken up to the sounds of birds before.

But he’d never woken up to the sound of both at the same time, much less both of them right in his damn ear!

To say it was an unorthodox way of waking up was to say the least -- absolutely a top contender, though not necessarily the strangest.

Qrow’s eyes snapped open upon hearing the screeching noise.

Even though he was awake, his mind took its time catching up with his still groggy self. 

He shook his head, eager to get the very bird that had awoken him so rudely out of his ear. Judging by the small pitter pattering sensations in his shoulders that felt like solid rain drops jumping across his clothes as well as the less beaky feeling he had in his ears following the action -- Gods, there were plenty of things he expected to happen today, but to describe anything that touched his ear as ‘beaky’ was not one of them -- it seemed like he was successful.

That was good, at least.

Once the primary source of his annoyance was gone, Qrow continued to look around the room. The view he had access to was limited and mostly covered in shadows, though judging by his posture, he could tell he was in some kind of chair.

Where was he?

What happened to him?

And why did he have such a headache?

Qrow moved his arm so that his hand could massage his head, but much to his surprise, it couldn’t move.

He looked down towards his body to investigate, and he couldn’t believe what he saw when he did.

A life of banditry meant that he’d been tied up more than his fair share of times -- an effort on the parts of his targets or random bystanders to subdue him that was valiant as it was pointless. Qrow was fine with rope and even better with knots.

However, what he was tied in right now was nothing like the ropes he’d dealt with before. 

What he was trapped in was some sort of metallic rope -- thin, but tight, bendable, but only to a point. The rope was crudely made aesthetically -- and honestly looked like it was in need of a good polishing -- but as Qrow attempted and failed to pull himself free from its confines, he realized its substance absolutely made up for any style it was lacking. Whoever made this knew what he was doing, and even though he prided himself on being pretty tough, Qrow was well aware no amount of raw strength was going to cut through what he was tied in.

It was also long, even stretching beyond the various loops it managed to make around his limbs, stretching out in front of him and into the shadows. 

“What the hell is this?” he muttered as he tried to make sense of his situation.

Qrow had woken up in strange ways before, but compared to waking up to the sound of a screeching bird whilst bound to a chair by a long stretch of metallic string, none of those instances could hold so much as a candle to a strangeness of this magnitude.

...Well, maybe that wasn’t completely true, but it was still strange nonetheless.

With his eyes, Qrow followed the rope from its last point of contact with the chair’s base into the darkness.

The string was quite long, but it did indeed have an end, and its end landed at something that the tiniest glimmer of sunlight made look like a pair of feet.

Qrow figured it was safe to presume that that was his captor.

His captor clearly noticed that he was not only awake, but had a visual -- however obstructed -- of his form. 

“I wouldn’t bother struggling if I were you.” It was a man’s voice that came out of the figure, a voice with an exaggeratedly cocky tone. However, even though he must have been over ten feet away, Qrow could feel a tenseness from him as if they were right beside each other that betrayed that tone.

He could hear his captor take a deep breath.

“I know why you’re here, you know,” the man continued, that abrasive cockiness still in his tone, but now more clearly faltering under the stress of that dominating tenseness, “b-but be warned that I’m not afraid of you.”

“Huh?” It was all Qrow could think to say -- not the most eloquent of sentiments, but it was at least a sentiment that was both accurate and honest. 

Qrow could hear soft, but firm steps coming from his captor as he stepped closer to the outskirts of the shadows.

“Now, who are you,” the man continued, abandoning his cockiness for a more adamant tone, “and how did you find me?” 

“What?”

For the next few seconds, another deep breath from his captor was all that Qrow was seemingly rewarded with for his question.

Then, he heard more steps, steps that stopped just as soon as they started. 

There was a pause, as if his captor had arrived at some kind of threshold he had to dare himself to cross. 

Then, he stepped fully into the light.

“I said,” the man carried on, “‘who are you and how did you find me?’”

At the sight of the man’s full form, all Qrow found that he could do was stammer both without aim or words as he took the man in from his head to his literal toes.

This man...everything about him was unorthodox.

The first things that stuck out to Qrow were his captor’s bare feet. Of course, not everyone wore shoes all the time, especially in the privacy of their own home, but especially for a situation like this, a lack of shoes stood out like two sore thumbs with five sore thumbs of their own each. 

Frankly, it almost felt uncivilized for such an occasion.

Also standing out to Qrow were the man’s white clothes, or rather, how pristinely white they were. The man clearly wasn’t royalty -- Qrow at least hoped he wasn’t because any members of the monarchy should have had better things to do than capture mostly petty bandits like himself -- and while regular people of the kingdom like himself did wear white, apart from people of royal standings, those who wore white tended to really be wearing off-white after he first few times sporting them.

Was this guy just a neat freak?

Well, he was a freak, alright -- that was for sure, neat or otherwise.

Additionally, his shirt lacked sleeves entirely, exposing strong looking, muscle-packed arms, one of which housed a red armband. In his line of work, Qrow came across plenty of strong people, both allies and enemies. Those who had particularly large amounts of muscles often had ones that looked overblown, as if it almost was more of a hindrance to have them than a help, but compared to them, the ones this man had were more balanced between toned and versatile. They weren’t too much, and they weren’t too little. 

That all having been said, large muscles or not, few that he encountered, unless they had tattoos to show off, lacked sleeves like this man did.

His hair was odd, too -- short and straight in the back, but messy and almost spiked in the front, resting just above his teal eyes. 

Qrow didn’t even know what to think about that, apart from the fact that this man clearly had a lot of free time.

The man coughed, taking Qrow out of his thoughts. 

“Who are you, and how did you find me?” he repeated, this time putting emphasis on every one of his question’s words.

Qrow took a deep breath.

Clearly, despite the fancy metallic string he was using, what Qrow was dealing with was an amateur at this whole capturing business.

Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing for him.

Qrow felt he was a charming man…

Granted almost no one ever agreed with that sentiment, but hey, those charms -- either in abundance or absence -- got him this far. 

Maybe they’d do the trick now and help get him free.

At the very least, Qrow felt it was worth a shot. 

Luckily for him, unlike many instances of this situation in the past, the target of his charms this time was pretty handsome, and that always made this scheme in particular easier to pull off.

“I can’t say that I do know who you are,” Qrow said, throwing on his most vulnerable, awestruck-looking expression, “nor do I know how it was that our fates were intertwined, but, if you’ll allow me the pleasure, I must say...hi.” Qrow then put on the most outwardly flirty face he’d ever put on before in his life -- a raised brow, a toothy smirk, narrowed eyes, and a clicked tongue. “Qrow Branwen’s what they call me, but you can just call me a bandit after your own heart. But enough about me,” Qrow continued, letting his eyes drift to his knuckles as he casually admired his hands before drawing them back to the man. “Tell me about you.”

The man’s eyes grew -- startled.

That was a good first step.

However, it didn’t last before his captor strengthened his resolve, gripping the weapon in his hand tighter as he took a step back. Qrow tried to get a look at what the weapon was, but the man was at the ready to distract him with another question.

“Who else knows my location, Qrow Branwen?” he asked, placing a strong emphasis on his name.

Well, so much for charming his way out of this...at least, for now.

“All right, muscles,” he said, abandoning his act and returning his face and tone to normal, albeit not enough that he couldn’t return to it later if he wanted to.

“Clover.”

“Eh, ‘muscles’ works better, don’t you think?” The man glared at Qrow, but he ignored him. “Look, here’s what happened,” he carried on. “I was in the forest, there was a little...let’s say altercation, and I came across your tower.”

Suddenly, a memory jumped at him -- a memory of the very subject of that altercation that brought him to this tower in the first place.

Qrow looked all throughout his bound body as well as the visible floor of the tower, hoping against hope that this man -- Clover -- had neglected to take notice of his satchel.

He had no such luck.

“Where’s my satchel?” Qrow demanded, further dropping any and all charming pretenses he still had up.

Clover looked at him, openly smirking.

“Somewhere you won’t be able to find it.”

Panicked, Qrow’s eyes raced across the room. 

Then, as his eyes met a certain location, the panic stopped.

Amateur.

“It’s in that pot over there,” he said, now matching Clover’s smirk with one of his own, “isn’t it?”

There were probably more unorthodox responses to having a bluff be called out, but as Qrow once more succumbed to the darkness of unconsciousness, he had trouble coming up with a list that was all that long.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Uncle Tyrian was right about a lot of things. 

If not for his opinions on the species that his best friend came from or his feelings on a quick field trip to see some lights, Clover probably would’ve said he was right about everything.

But in the moment he knocked out Qrow after Qrow successfully called out his bluff, he wagered that his uncle’s assertion that Clover was perhaps a little too sensitive for his own good was so right that it hurt.

Well, it at least hurt Qrow.

Qrow Branwen…

Clover didn’t know what he expected to happen when conversing with someone from the outside world that wasn’t his uncle, but whatever it was, it wasn’t that.

Qrow was by all means indescribable.

Weird.

That’s it -- Qrow was weird.

He wasn’t mean, he wasn’t nice, he wasn’t gracious, he wasn’t malicious, or anything in between -- he was just weird.

But just because he was weird didn’t mean he couldn’t help Clover.

After hiding the satchel again, Clover and Raven exchanged a single glance at each other before executing the same plan that brought he and Qrow to speaking terms in the first place.

Qrow yelped as he came back to the conscious world. His shoulder jumped and the impact made Raven fall to the floor. 

“Would you stop that?” he yelled at her.

Clover turned to Raven. 

“Are you okay, Raven?” Raven looked a little dizzy, but gave an affirmative squawk nonetheless before turning her gaze back to Qrow.

Qrow shot Clover a look, one incredulous, semi-confused, and almost pitying in nature.

“You named your pet raven Raven?” he asked. “Not exactly the most creative of names, you’ve got to admit.”

Clover casually brandished Kingfisher. “I will knock you out again,” he threatened, though only semi-seriously. After all, while those outside the tower weren’t monsters, he wasn’t, and it was important to show that, even when making himself seem tough.

Thankfully, Qrow seemed to get that, sporting a deadpan expression before, during, and after the threat.

“No need,” he said, raising his hands as much as he could given his bound state in a surrendering nature.

Then, he did something curious.

Qrow leaned himself toward Clover and started studying Kingfisher closely. 

“What is that weapon?” he asked. “Some kind of fishing rod?” 

He seemed genuinely curious, and even a little fascinated. 

Clover hadn’t expected curious and fascinated of all things to be the elicited reactions. 

Immediately, he fought off the heat he began feeling in his cheeks, his brow furrowing as he glared.

“What it is is none of your business,” he said firmly. “What is your business is that I’ve hidden that satchel of yours again, and this time, I know it’s somewhere you’ll never find it.”

Qrow’s eyes narrowed and he scoffed. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, I’ll admit that I may have underestimated you earlier, but I didn’t let that happen again.” Clover was proud of himself. Of all of his tower’s hiding spots, he picked a real winner this time. “Now, let’s get back to business,” he said as he approached Qrow once more, brandishing his weapon as he circled him. “What do you plan to do to me? Keep me for yourself?”

Qrow looked at him, confused.

“What?”

“Sell me?”

“No!” he shouted, gesturing his hands in a way that pleaded with Clover to settle down. Clover obliged. “Listen, muscles, the only thing I want to do with you is to get as far away from you as humanly possible.”

Well, that was good to hear...sort of...

“A little rude,” Clover muttered.

Clover swore Qrow’s eyes tripled in size at that comment. 

“I’m trapped in your fishing rod!” he shot back, now shouting even louder as he pulled against his restraints. “We’re well past ‘a little rude,’ and newsflash -- I’m not the one who got us there!”

Another retort was just about to come out, but upon realizing something, Clover stopped it. 

“So wait,” he said, loosening his grip on Kingfisher ever so slightly, “you’re not here for me?”

“You’re not bad at capturing people for an obvious beginner, but no -- I’m not here for you. Look, what happened was that I was being chased, I saw a tower, and I climbed it. That’s all.”

Raven squawked, and Clover turned to her. She was glaring at Qrow, scrutinizing him for lies. She then sent a resigned look Clover’s way. Clover had no idea how to take that, but upon receiving another nod from her, an ‘o’ shape formed in his mouth as he finally put the pieces of his friend’s reluctant message together.

Qrow was telling the truth.

He was just a man who -- for whatever reason -- wanted his satchel, some privacy, and nothing more.

There was still a question of why he was chased in the first place and why he needed that satchel so badly -- questions Clover had at least a guess as to what the answers to them were -- but Clover’s secret was still a secret as far as it related to this man.

His plan could work.

For a few moments, he and Raven communicated with each other through a series of squawks and exchanged glances, and all the while, Qrow was trying to helplessly scooch his chair away, no doubt to see if he could find the satchel’s hiding spot.

Even with his semblance always at play for both of their benefits, Clover knew that wasn’t about to happen.

Satisfied with his and Raven’s resolution, Clover turned back to Qrow. 

“Okay, Qrow Branwen,” Clover said. “I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”

“Deal?” Qrow cried, incredulously. 

“Look over here,” Clover demanded. He couldn’t believe he was showing off his painting to a second person today when up until today, only he and Raven had ever laid eyes on it before, but today was one that promised change, and Clover was intent on embracing that if it meant fulfilling his dream.

Without giving Qrow much of a chance to properly orient himself, Clover tugged Kingfisher so that his sight would align with the painting Clover wanted him to see. Unfortunately for Qrow, the pull wasn’t balanced, and while he landed basically where Clover needed him to, it was on the ground, face first. It wasn’t the kindest of moves, Clover would admit, but in this rare situation, he’d throw kindness to the wind to keep himself looking intimidating...or at least as intimidating as Qrow probably believed him to be.

“What can you tell me about these?” Clover said, pointing with Kingfisher to one of the painting’s green lights. 

Clover almost felt his heart burst as he saw a flicker of recognition in Qrow’s eyes.

“What? The lantern thing they do for the General’s son?” he clarified, unaware of what truth he had just informed Clover of.

“Lanterns?” Clover gasped. 

So Uncle Tyrian was wrong about them!

“Lanterns! I knew they weren’t stars!” The celebration was cut short as Clover remembered what he was trying to accomplish during this encounter. He coughed, regaining his composure. “Yes, as I’m sure you know, tomorrow night, those lanterns will light up the night’s sky.” He then pointed Kingfisher at Qrow. “You will guide me to the lanterns, and ensure I get safely there and then home. Once I’ve returned, then, and only then, will I return your satchel to you. That is my deal.”

Clover felt pretty confident about the arrangement he set up. It was fair, got both himself and Qrow everything they wanted, and would ensure Clover’s safety and timely return back to the tower before Uncle Tyrian even knew he was gone.

It was perfect.

“Can’t do it,” Qrow said.

Apparently, it was only almost perfect, but not quite.

Seriously?!

“Look, the kingdom and I aren’t on the friendliest of terms right now, so no, I won’t be taking you there.” Qrow gave him a deadpan look, but there was a certain element to how he spoke, one that reminded Clover of how he felt whenever Uncle Tyrian beat him at chess.

It was a lowkey smugness.

Clover could appreciate a lowkey smugness -- it seemed like part of that ‘outside-the-tower’ brand of humor that he’d love to one day understand -- but he wasn’t willing to put up with it, let alone settle for it where it concerned the difference between him seeing the lights and not seeing the lights.

No, Qrow wasn’t getting out of this that easily.

“Something brought you here, Qrow Branwen,” Clover said, pulling Qrow back upright and then closer to him with well-angled tugs on the fishing rod’s line. “Call it what you will -- fate, destiny-”

“A string of terrible life choices.”

“I’ve made the decision to trust you.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

“But trust me when I say this,” Clover insisted. His tugs had finally pulled Qrow close enough for him to be right in Clover’s face, albeit with Clover at a height advantage.

It was an advantage Clover was excited to have for what he planned to say next.

“You can do whatever you’d like to with this tower -- tear it up, tear it down, destroy it to the point where no one ever would believe that there was ever a tower here at all -- but without my help, you’ll never get that satchel of yours back.”

Qrow now seemed to come to terms with his situation.

“So I take you to see the lanterns, bring you back home, then you give me my satchel,” he paraphrased. “That’s the deal?”

“Exactly. I promise.” At Qrow’s look of disbelief, Clover strengthened his resolve even further. “And if there’s one thing I don’t break, it’s promises.” Raven gave Qrow an affirmative squawk that backed him up. Clover wasn’t sure if he’d get that, but either way, hurt.

Qrow took a deep breath.

That was a good sign.

“Look, muscles,” he commiserated, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” 

Clover was tempted to step back, but ultimately stood his ground. 

So much for that good sign.

Qrow couldn’t hurt him, right?

He would’ve by now if he could’ve, right?

Without being given time to ask for an explanation, Qrow continued.

“Here comes the Smoulder.” 

  
That was all he said before it happened -- the Smoulder.

Qrow pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes so that they formed crescent-like shapes in one way while his brows did the same in the opposite way. 

...This man -- Qrow Branwen -- he was weird.

The Smoulder -- is that what he called it? 

To say Clover wasn’t exactly amazed would be an understatement, and he made sure his expression communicated that without a shred of doubt.

Thankfully, Qrow seemed to get that message pretty quickly. “Today is just not my day, is it?” he said.

“Nope,” Clover smirked. “It’s mine. So, do we have a deal?”

“Fine!” Qrow at last relented, dropping the Smoulder entirely. “I’ll take you to see the lanterns.”

“Great!” Clover said, unable to keep how impressed he was with himself out of his voice.

“You broke my Smoulder,” Qrow grunted, though Clover could tell he was just a little impressed, too. “Didn’t think that was possible.”

“Well, as you now know, I’m full of surprises.”

“Can’t say I could ever forget that...no matter how much I try,” Qrow mumbled. “Now, let me out of here so we can get out of here and get this over with.”

“You got it!” Clover couldn’t help but jump with excitement. 

There were a lot of things Uncle Tyrian was right about. 

Perhaps he was right about what would happen during a trip to see the lights, too.

However, this was for once going to be a matter where Clover decided he’d figure out what was right or wrong for himself with his own eyes, and nothing was going to stop him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of every kind are appreciate, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day!!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go!!!! This was a challenging chapter to write because it's the first one that wasn't strictly from the movie! Obviously, we're gonna run into more of these as we go on, but I had such a fun time building it up piece by piece, and I hope you'll like reading it!

Clover Callows had never felt breathless before.

He’d felt all the emotions that were often associated with breathlessness -- awestruckness, shock, anxiety, to name a few. Clover knew emotions could contribute to explaining the ‘why’ of the sensation of breathlessness, but the actual ‘what’ of the sensation beyond a pure biological one escaped him.

However, as Clover started untying his reluctant, but all the same willing guide, he started to feel it just a little. 

Breathlessness…

It took all Clover had in him to ignore soaking in and embracing what breathlessness really felt like in the same way he did with his blankets and pillows on a cold winter’s night.

Still he did ignore the temptation -- there were still things to do before leaving the tower -- but he was fine with that. After all, Clover knew there would be more to come of the feeling very soon, and he couldn’t wait to give it all the attention it deserved.

Clover had to hand it to himself -- his weapon-making skills weren’t pretty, but where they failed aesthetically, they more than made up for it in their top notch utility. He’d never had a real chance before to utilize Kingfisher’s line in such a way as it had over the past few hours, but when push came to shove, the fishing rod accomplished its many tasks marvelously, and given the way Qrow didn’t massage his wrist and ankles when he was finally freed of the line, it did its job while also making sure Qrow was never in pain while confined in its line. 

No matter what would come to pass on this journey, there had to be something to be said for that.

As Qrow stood up, now free of Kingfisher’s embrace, he stretched. 

“Never thought I’d be so happy to be standing,” he mumbled as he arched his back. 

Clover opened his mouth to chastise Qrow for mumbling, but closed it. 

Of all the family traits that he got from Uncle Tyrian, why was that the one that decided to show itself?

“The trek to the kingdom is about a day’s trip from here, maybe a little less if we’re lucky,” Qrow said. Clover gave Qrow a careful look, reminding himself that Qrow clearly had no idea about his semblance. 

It was going to be okay.

Qrow started at Clover’s hesitant look, obviously not understanding the reason for it. 

“What?” he asked, both defensively and exasperatedly, much in the same way Raven squawked when Clover suggested they do something silly or weird. 

If it weren’t for his most recent thoughts, Clover might have laughed at that.

“Good. That’s good to hear,” Clover said, ignoring Qrow’s question and focusing on maintaining a sense of seriousness once more. “You will indeed serve well as my guide.”

Qrow didn’t look fully convinced, but thankfully, he didn’t look fully unconvinced either. He just muttered something under his breath and continued stretching.

Suddenly though, he stopped. 

Something obviously caught his eye, and Clover knew exactly what it was.

“I’m gonna be needing that,” Qrow said, pointing to where he was looking at -- the other end of the tower where his scythe and its shielding sheath rested against the wall. Clover couldn’t help but narrow his eyes skeptically. “What?” Qrow continued, his tone strong and defensive. “I’ve got to be able to defend myself out there. I already told you I was being chased.”

Clover sighed, gesturing over to where Qrow’s weapon was, allowing Qrow to take it into his possession once more. 

If Clover was being honest with himself, he wasn’t excited at the prospect of giving a human a weapon. After all, as Uncle Tyrian had told him so many times before, half of a human’s strength came from their weapons. However, in addition to his confidence that Qrow didn’t know his semblance, eliminating many of Clover’s more prominent worries, Clover knew that if Qrow was going to take him to see the lights, he needed two things. 

First, as Qrow himself said, he needed a means of defending himself. If the world outside his tower was dangerous for him, it was no doubt dangerous for Qrow too. No matter what he thought of outsiders, he could never deny one protection. After all, he wasn’t about to leave Kingfisher, and he’d never ask Uncle Tyrian to leave the tower without his blades, and so he would allow Qrow the use of his weapon. 

Second, as anxious as it felt for Clover to do so, he needed to give Qrow at least some of his trust. Of course, he wasn’t going to divulge to Qrow just anything, especially the secret of his semblance -- he was lucky that Qrow didn’t already know it, and he wasn’t about to compromise that information any time soon -- but given the skills Clover had already displayed towards Qrow with Kingfisher as well as the leverage he held over Qrow, allowing Qrow the use of his weapon was a reasonable risk to take and bit of trust to give. Besides, Qrow had let him decide whether or not he’d get to use his weapon. That earned him a bit of the trust he knew he should return in kind.

Additionally, Clover had to admit that while he didn’t spare Qrow’s weapon as much thought as Qrow himself and his intentions for Qrow, he did find the weapon interesting all the same, and a chance to see it in action was a temptation hard to ignore.

A scythe...it was so strange…

He wanted to know, and maybe now was a good time to ask, given the small provision of trust he’d given Qrow.

Clover leaned back towards the nearest wall. He crossed one leg over the other while pretending to focus on his nails rather than Qrow, so as to appear as nonchalant as possible. “So why a scythe?” He asked, careful to keep a casual tone. “Weird choice of a weapon. Why not a sword, or a blade?” When he was finally done, he cautiously turned to look at Qrow.

Qrow gave him a look that screamed just how unimpressed and unfooled by Clover’s scheme he was. 

“Mr. Fishing Rod is telling me that my weapon choice is weird?” he snorted, slinging his scythe’s scabbard over his shoulder. 

Clover once more tried to feign a sense of casualness. “Just curious, you know?”

“Looks like it’s time for me to make a deal of my own. Give me my satchel back and I’ll tell you all about my scythe.”

Clover smirked at him, this time needing to fake nothing about his disposition. “Not a chance, Qrow.”

Qrow glared at him for half a beat before sighing, allowing it to dissolve into something more neutral, but still curious. “Okay, well then why don’t you tell me about that fishing rod of yours first?”

Clover smirked, proud that his weapon had managed to impress someone from the outside world as much as it impressed Qrow. 

“Kingfisher is unexpected,” Clover answered, unable to keep the boasting tone out of his voice. “Whenever I’ve been told or read about weapons, everyone always has swords, or knives, or arrows. But would anyone think of a fishing rod? I don’t think so. Gives me an edge in combat. Clearly worked on you.”

Qrow gave him a light sneer. “I was distracted, and you got lucky. I promise you, it won’t happen again.” He then scoffed, his vicious look once again disappearing. 

Gods, there was that word again. ‘Lucky.’

How did someone who knew nothing about his semblance keep stumbling right into it?

That just wasn’t fair.

Then again, that was Clover’s semblance for him -- it gave a little, and took a little.

Just his luck.

Clover coughed, careful as to not alert Qrow’s suspicions again. If Qrow thought anything strange of it, he didn’t say nor show it.

“Interesting,” Qrow said, nodding. “Well, it looks a little crude, but honestly, not bad.”

Clover smirked, proudly. He’d almost wanted to say thank you, but then remembered that he was owed a story, too.

“Your turn,” he said. 

Qrow took out Harbinger and signaled with his hand for Clover to take a step back, a suggestion Clover took with little prompting. Once he did, Qrow swung Harginbers blade, causing it to double in size. 

Blown away, Clover was pretty sure his jaw fell all the way to his knees.

Qrow looked so smug as he smirked in response to the awestruck expression. 

That did the job of taking Clover out of his trance to roll his eyes at him, though only for a moment as his focus quickly returned to Qrow’s weapon.

“This,” Qrow said, “is Harbinger, and it is so much better than any sword in the world. Scythes as a whole are more versatile and cover more ground than most swords, but Harbinger also folds in on itself, is good for climbing, and best of all, scares the shit out of anyone who messes with me.” In that moment, Qrow’s smirk turned just the slightest bit menacing. 

Clover had to admit that for a second, Harbinger’s latter purpose was definitely working on him. However, it was only a second all the same, and Clover was quick to brush it off.

“I know the difference between a threat and a bluff,” Clover shot back, “and that was most certainly a bluff.” Qrow’s sneer reformed. “But your weapon’s pretty nice. No match for Kingfisher, but nice all the same.” 

Qrow sighed, matching the eye roll Clover gave him earlier with one of his own as he folded up and sheathed Harbinger once more. He then looked intently at Clover, who immediately started feeling very uncomfortable.

“What?” Clover asked, unable to keep all of the hesitance in his voice at bay.

“You need an outfit change,” Qrow said.

There was a lot Clover figured Qrow might say after their little weapons showdown.

That wasn’t one of those.

“Excuse me?” Clover said slowly, looking over his clothes. 

Did they look bad?

Suddenly, Clover’s cheeks felt all too hot for his liking.

“You’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb in that getup. I don’t want that, and more importantly for you, something tells me you don’t want that, either.” Clover opened his mouth to feign a denial, but Qrow continued before he could say anything. “You’re not the only one who can spot some fishy business. Guy lives alone in a secret tower, or at least, almost all alone if your table’s any indication, and doesn’t know his way to the kingdom capital. There’s gotta be a reason for that.” Clover once more tried to give an explanation, but once more, Qrow beat him to the proverbial punch. “Don’t worry,” he continued, his hands up in a surrendering fashion, “I’m not gonna ask. You’ve got your business, and I’ve got mine. But still, if you’ve got something else, I’d recommend you change, if not today, then at least for when we get to the capital tomorrow. I think it’s safe to say that we could both do without the extra attention.” 

Clover took in Qrow’s words. 

He...wasn’t wrong...at all.

That somewhat disturbed him.

All the same though, Qrow was right -- he did need a change of clothes if he wanted to blend in once they got to town. While Clover was okay enough breaking his uncle’s greatest rule this one time in his life, he wasn’t about to take any extra risks to his safety if he could help it.

Clover nodded, more to himself than to Qrow, and then turned to Raven. 

“Watch him,” he ordered, much to Qrow’s clear dismay as conveyed by an overly loud groan from him.

He went to his closet and looked at another of his favorite outfits. The colors were more earthy. He’d probably fit in fine enough with them on, so he stuffed them into a bag and slung the bag over his shoulder to change into tomorrow. 

Clover wasn’t surprised when he turned back to see Qrow trying in vain to find his satchel and failing miserably while Raven mockingly squawked at him, as beside herself with laughter as a bird could possibly be. As Qrow turned to him, Clover smirked at his failed attempts at ending their deal prematurely.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Qrow said, shrugging.

“I can,” Clover said in a matter-of-fact fashion, “but you’ve caught me in a good mood, so I won’t.” Clover then pat the bag behind him. “All good to go,” he said to both of them, right before leaning down to pick up Raven and place her on his shoulder.

“Oh great,” Qrow muttered. “The bird is coming?”

Clover smiled, giving Raven an affectionate scratch on her neck. “Of course she’s coming. Raven’s my best friend.”

Qrow sighed tiredly, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “There is not a single thing about you that makes sense, muscles.”

Clover shot him a deadpan look at the reemergence of his nickname.

Was ‘Clover’ really that hard to use?

For Gods’ sake, it was the same amount of syllables as ‘muscles!’

He ignored it. Perhaps he’d just have to find a nickname for Qrow.

Yeah, that’s exactly what he’d do.

But right now, the nickname could wait.

“I’m heading down,” Qrow grumbled, taking his scythe out of its sheath and sitting on the window sill, seemingly planning his trip down the tower. 

Clover realized he had to do the same thing now.

This was so exciting!

Kingfisher’s presence as a key role in his descention was obvious. Even without the stone base, he could probably still configure the pulley to work for him by making it just act as a hook for Kingfisher. The more Clover worked out the plan, the more confident he became that it could be done. After all, while he was larger than his uncle, the stone base drastically cut down on the weight needed for him to be safely lowered, and Clover rose and lowered himself with just Kingfisher plenty of times before while playing and training. All he would have to do was put on his leather gloves to protect his hands as he fell -- easy enough.

It would work.

It would all work.

Qrow crossed over to the other side of the tower, and Clover instantly heard the now somewhat familiar sound of his scythe clanging against the structure. 

Clover went over to the windowsill and looked at Qrow, but Qrow didn’t return his gaze, clearly too focused on his climb down. He then looked to Raven, who did meet his gaze. They exchanged a smile. It was obvious that Raven was looking forward to this adventure just as much as Clover was.

Who could blame her?

“Hold onto my collar, nice and tight,” he said, nuzzling his head against hers. Once he was done, Raven looped her unmarred wing above and under Clover’s collar, giving him a squawk when she was done.

Clover took out Kingfisher and locked its hook into the pulley, staring at it in awe as he fully released its line and looped part of it around his waist. For once, the pulley was going to do its job, but only for him. 

It was unbelievable.

He looked towards the ground outside the tower. It was a long way down, but the terrain was one he knew well after cumulative days of looking down and across from his window and years of dreaming about what it would be like to experience the very thing he was just about to do.

“You coming, muscles?” Qrow called from below.

Oh, he was.

With a last deep breath of his home taken, Clover jumped off the windowsill and out of the tower.

Falling was a rush. The air slammed into his face, and the only way Clover could hope to describe it was like a noiseless version of Raven’s loudest squawks, but amplified to almost unreal proportions. It was cold, it was ceaseless, it was almost menacing in how the wind’s roar sounded vaguely menacing as Clover continued his descent. Clover loved every second of it. 

As he fell, he couldn’t help but release cries of joy as his laughter painted the skies with a beam that not even the sun could hope to match in power or size.

He could vaguely see and hear Qrow in the half of a second he passed him during his fall, but needless to say, Qrow seemed surprised by his choice of climbing strategies.

Well, as long as it didn’t mess with his navigation skills, it was certainly nice to leave his guide always guessing what new tricks he had up his sleeve.

As Clover fell from twenty feet from the tower’s base to ten, and from ten feet to five, he realized that it was time to execute his landing strategy.

He pulled himself up ever so slightly with an upward tug of Kingfisher’s line, allowing the impact of his fall to be absorbed before he ever risked feeling the pain of it.

The rest of the drop was only another couple of feet.

Clover could do it.

All at once, he fully let go of the line and fell the rest of the way.

The impact of the world at his feet was softer than Clover ever expected it to be.

Clover, speechless, allowed himself to just feel the sensation of it all.

Thin, tiny wisps of grass tickled his toes and the dew as well as the water from the nearby pond sank below the grass into the wetted dirt, covering the balls of Clover’s feet that sank into the earth below him.

Finally, his fall was done.

Finally, his feet were on the ground.

Finally, Clover was really, truly outside his tower.

Despite all the air that had flown in his face on the way down as well as the fresh air that now surrounded him, as those facts came to light, Clover, for the first time in his entire life, felt what it was like to be truly and fully breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated and encouraged, but even if you don't review, I hope you have a good day!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS OUT-OF-UNIVERSE CHAPTER!!!!
> 
> Clover, now free of his tower, lets loose how thrilled he is to be outside in musical form!
> 
> (Remixed lyrics to "When Will My Life Begin?")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! It’s that time again for another Tangled AU music remix! Today’s remix is of the reprise of “When Will My Life Begin?” And as always, if you want to hear me sing this little number, hit up my Tumblr account: theonceoerthinker and search for "tangled au" in the search bar!

**WHEN WILL MY LIFE BEGIN? (REPRISE)**

_ CLOVER: _

_ As I look down, the air all but vacates my chest _

_ Just a climb down, and then my whole life will change _

_ No idea if this is really the right thing _

_ Turn back? _

_ No. _

_ Here I go _

_ Can’t help but just stand still as I now take it in _

_ I feel each blade of grass as they tickle my skin _

_ For the first time ever, I’m not where I’ve been _

_ I can go swimming _

_ Or smelling _

_ It’s all so  _

_ Compelling _

_ Or running _

_ Not pacing _

_ Because my _

_ Heart’s racing _

_ Arms open _

_ Soul squealing _

_ I’m finally feeling _

_ Now’s when my life begins _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you reviewed or not, I hope you have an awesome day!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have a lot to say! Just enjoy!

‘Big’ was a word that was all but rammed out of Clover’s vocabulary over the course of his life, if there was ever even really a point where it even existed there at all. 

His tower was small. 

His family was small. 

His library was small. 

His view was small.

All in all, his entire world was small.

That’s not to say that he didn’t appreciate what he had in his life -- quite the opposite, in fact. He never took the love he was given from Uncle Tyrian and Raven for granted and anything he was given was used to the fullest, cherished completely by him no matter how small those aspects of his life were. 

However, all the same, the word ‘big’ was the mother of many years of longing pangs for Clover as hundreds of thousands of hours in such a small environment.

Now that was about to change.

As Clover allowed himself to take his first steps on the wispy grass of the outskirts of his tower as he detached Kingfisher from the pulley and removed his gloves, ‘big’ became more than just a possibility he’d only let himself dream about for a few minutes at the most at a time over the course of nearly twenty-one years -- it became a reality, and he was ready to absorb all that that word entailed.

So far, it was almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

Perhaps he was being oversensitive, as Uncle Tyrian often claimed he tended to be, but for the moment, Clover didn’t care -- he felt like he could cry right now. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but for the first time in Gods’ knew how long, the tears weren’t birthed of sadness, but of joy, of excitement, of hope.

He was going to see the floating lanterns.

How could he not let his emotions swell in the face of that?

Still, Clover didn’t cry.

Instead, he squealed and ran forward. 

Clover made a mental note of all the things in his bubble of a clearing that he wanted to explore, things that he’d return to later. 

However, at the moment, something took greater precedence in his mind. 

He’d had this enclosed clearing as a view from his tower his entire life. Clover knew the immediate area facing his window like the back of his hand, and he knew he could return to it at the end of his journey between Qrow’s final departure and Uncle Tyrian’s return.

No, there was something else he wanted to see first.

For twenty years, a canopy of vines acted as the door that stood between Clover’s clearing and the outside world. Uncle Tyrian gave him bits of information about what it was like on the other side, but it was never enough. He mentioned a small cave, but said aside from that it was ‘just trees and rocks, nothing worth seeing compared to this view.’

Even still, while he knew Uncle Tyrian was being truthful, Clover had fantasized about what it was like on the other side of it for as long as he could remember, and thought there was so much of his own clearing that he still wanted to see and feel, he wanted to finally know the truth about what it was that laid beyond its vines. 

Right now, that canopy was just ahead.

It was the first step of his adventure, and Clover’s heart felt like it was about to burst.

As Clover’s fingers parted the vines at the opening of the canopy, he took in their unique texture -- plump, leafy, and though not sentient, so full of life. Just as Uncle Tyrian had said before, a small cave laid ahead of the vines -- dark and cool with wet stones that soothed Clover’s feet and tiny mushrooms Clover recognized from the gatherings Uncle Tyrian often brought back home. Clover laughed and gasped as his laughter echoed through the cave’s walls. Apart from the sounds he made while cupping his hands, he’d never heard the sound of a real echo before, and it was music to his ears. 

If he had all the time in the world, he’d talk and listen to himself all day.

But no, he didn’t have all day, and there was still so much left to see, with the first thing on his list was mere steps away.

Finally, at the cave’s end, another canopy of vines laid ahead, and Clover knew that once he crossed their threshold, he’d officially be in the world outside his tower’s borders. It wasn’t as big of a step as was the process of exiting the tower itself, but it was still a step regardless.

All the same, it was a step that Clover was excited to take.

Clover pulled apart the last of the vines, and looked in awe at the sight their parting revealed.

It was another clearing, but this one was so different. The clearing revealed a big open field as well as a stretch of trees that went as far as the eye could see, and probably further. A small gust of wind blew across the clearing, cloaking Clover’s entire being with its cool embrace. Clover even spun against the breeze so he could feel even more of it, closing his eyes so that he could fully experience it. He took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fly into and out of his lungs. The air, it felt so clean, so new.

Despite dreaming about this moment for so long, Clover realized that all the preparation in the world for experiencing life outside his tower couldn’t hope to reflect how it would actually feel, even if it was everything he expected.

And it was everything he expected, everything and more.

He was outside.

He was really outside, and it was magnificent.

Clover’s heart swelled. 

“I can’t believe I did this!” he cried out. The words weren’t shouted out towards anyone in particular. Qrow was still back by the tower, and Raven had jumped off his shoulder before he went through the vines, presumably to keep an eye on his reluctant guide. By now, they were both likely approaching him.

No, these words were for himself and himself alone.

And so even though he could now faintly make out the sound of Qrow’s boots and Raven’s now echoed squawks as they walked through the cave, Clover repeated them once more, even gasping to himself about how scandalizing this whole affair truly was.

“I can’t believe I did this!”

He laughed as he heard his own words, words he decided to yell out once more.

“I can’t believe I did this!”

A warm gust of wind blew at him again, carrying with it a silent message meant for only his ears.

There was a big, beautiful world to explore, and it was at last his time to do so. 

()()()()()()()()()()

Clover was a weird guy, an impossibly weird guy.

Qrow hadn’t even spent an hour with him, but of all the assumptions he knew he could make about Clover -- and between the lack of shoes and sleeves, the all white getup, and the fishing pole, there weren’t a lot of those -- that seemed the most truthful one.

It didn’t take a lot for Qrow to put together that Clover had likely never left that tower. If it wasn’t already made obvious by the fact that he needed a guide to get to the capital of all places, the second time he cried out ‘I can’t believe I did this,’ made that fact absolutely apparent. 

Qrow, for the life, of him couldn’t so much as hazard a guess as to why he’d never left before. Clover seemed afraid, but that made no sense. If the dulling pain of his headache from Clover’s attacks was anything to go by, he was absolutely strong enough to take care of himself, and could no doubt easily get a job if money was the issue at hand. 

Either was, it wasn’t like Clover was going to provide an answer. He’d kept so much about himself vague, and that admittedly made for a compelling mystery for Qrow to think on as he and the world’s most annoying bird -- Raven, Qrow remembered Clover calling him -- trudged over to him. It was certainly better than trying to understand what all of Raven’s squawks meant, though Qrow could hazard a guess that it was something along the lines of ‘don’t mess with Clover.’

However, even as Qrow entertained the mystery that was Clover, he reminded himself that he wasn’t hanging around Clover to solve that mystery, he was hanging around him to get his satchel back. Still, if Clover’s behavior and resolve in the tower was anything to go by, that wasn’t happening any time soon.

As Qrow emerged from the cave, attempting to loosen his grip on the vines in his hand at just the right time so that they would hit Raven, but failing miserably and earning a piercing squawk for his efforts, he saw Clover frolicking through the clearing that stood before them. 

Gods, he got that Clover wanted to look around, but could they just get a move on, already? There was plenty to see on the rest of their trip.

Then again, with the Ace Ops likely still in pursuit of him, the further away from the kingdom capital he was, the better.

That said, he’d have preferred to avoid the capital altogether, but Clover wasn’t about to let that happen and as long as he still had Qrow’s satchel, he’d be the one calling the shots.

Qrow groaned, a reaction directed at both of his traveling companions, earning another agitated squawk from one of them. Two glares met each other as Qrow and Raven locked eyes.

“Stubborn pigeon,” Qrow mumbled. 

Raven squawked again, to which Qrow just stuck his tongue out at her.

Qrow turned to look at Clover again, who was now only piling on more evidence to the case that he was a big old weirdo.

That had to be on purpose. It just had to be.

Yes, no longer was Clover frolicking, but instead, he was panicking.

“Uncle Tyrian would be furious,” Qrow could hear him mumble. 

Clover looked to muse on the point for a second before seemingly spotting something, and heading towards it. He sat by a lily pad filled pond, and picked up one of the flowers atop the lily pads, gazing at it.

By the time Qrow arrived, Clover’s mood seemed to completely change from the last time he spoke. 

“But that’s okay,” Clover said to himself. “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right?”

That self musing seemed to calm him down for a second. Then, his body perked up, as if he’d just remembered something. He then ran back towards the cave leading towards his tower.

Did that mean he’d changed his mind?

No, definitely not. He was just having more of his weirdness spree.

Once again, Qrow followed Clover, who was now just entering the cave. 

However...he didn’t get far. 

All it took was just one glance at the ground, and for some reason, that led him to fall on his knees. 

“Gods,” he moaned, holding his head in his hands as he looked at some mushrooms. “This would kill him!”

Qrow was tempted to say something, but decided to let this play out.

That turned out to be a wrong choice, for Clover then ran back towards him through the cave’s exit, almost knocking Qrow over in the process with only a quick apology offered as a recompense. 

Sighing, Qrow continued following him, figuring that eventually, the novelty of being outside that tower would wear off, or at least Clover would tucker himself out from these mood swings.

Maybe then, Qrow could make some progress towards getting his satchel back.

So Qrow watched as Clover ran through a gambit of emotions, everything from calling himself a terrible nephew and a despicable human being and trying to convince himself to return to the tower to calling this day the best day ever and claiming he’d never go back to the tower again. The extremes of the emotions went back and forth, just like the swinging bottom of a cuckoo clock.

It made sense, Clover was absolutely cuckoo.

Surely, this had to stop soon. 

Thankfully, it eventually did. After an hour passed from when they first left the tower, Clover was sitting down once again, this time hugging his knees and sinking his head into them. Qrow could hear a low groan coming from him.

This whole thing was really eating at him, wasn’t it?

...Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing...

Quickly, Qrow thought up a plan, thinking to himself that if he handled this just right, it might work.

In any event, it was worth a shot.

Qrow cleared his throat, a gesture that earned him a little perk in Clover’s ears.

That was a good enough start.

Admittedly, it was also kind of cute.

“You know,” Qrow started. “I can’t help but notice that you seem a little conflicted.”

Clover rose his head from his knees and looked at Qrow, exposing an expression on his face that was beyond just simply vulnerable.

“I get it!” Qrow said, trying to keep a tone that showed understanding in his voice, but was also casual enough to be believable. “It’s not hard to put two and two together -- an uppity uncle, an off-limits excursion -- heavy stuff, really.” Clover bit his lip, seeming for the first time today receptive to Qrow’s advice.

Looks like Qrow’s day was about to take an upswing. 

He knelt down and lightly touched Clover’s shoulder. When Clover didn’t pull himself back from the touch, Qrow smiled. 

“This is just how life works,” he continued. “You can’t just keep following someone else's rules your whole life. Questions, and answers to those questions and exploring your options -- that’s all good for the soul!”

Clover turned away from Qrow and looked out into the distance. “You think so?”

Suddenly, Qrow felt a very familiar, very unwelcome sensation approaching his shoulder. 

That stupid bird was back, and she was getting far too close to Clover’s line of sight for his liking.

Quickly, before Clover could see her, Qrow nudged Raven off of his body.

“I know so,” Qrow insisted. “Trust me, you’re letting yourself feel that guilt of leaving your uncle way too strongly.”

Clover nodded. “My uncle always did warn me that I’m a bit too oversensitive.”

“Exactly. So, your uncle, he’s like a father to you, right?”

“He basically raised me all on his own,” Clover admitted.

“And that’s adorable, but honestly, what does he know about you and your dreams? You’ve got to leave the nest and fly away from here if you ever want to have a life outside of that dingy tower. Sure, does he deserve it? No. Will this break his heart and crush his soul? Definitely. But if you want something like this trip to the lanterns, you’ve just got to forget all that, go forward, and keep moving on.” Off the ground, Qrow saw a berry. He picked it up and fiddled it in between his fingers.

He had a feeling he could make use of it.

The desired effect was immediate, as Clover’s arms tightened around his knees.

“Break his heart?” he repeated.

“In half.” Qrow said, shrugging. 

“Crush his soul?”

Between his thumb and index finger, Qrow crushed the berry. “Like a grape.”

Clover clearly heard the well-timed sound of the berry squishing. “He’d never be able to live with himself! You’re right.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t.” Qrow quirked his brow. “You seem upset,” he said, keeping his tone as innocent as he could manage. Before Clover could even open his mouth to respond, Qrow continued, releasing a dramatic sigh. “Look, you care about this uncle of yours, right?”

“O-of course,” Clover said. “I love him more than anything in the world.”

“And whatever it is he and you have going on in that tower means a lot to you, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Qrow could see Clover was still hesitant and more than a little panicked, but also confident in his conviction of love for his family.

How precious.

Clicking his tongue, Qrow gave Clover’s shoulder a light tap, causing Clover to look at him again. “I don’t want to tell you what to do,” Qrow said, “but it seems to me like this little stunt you’re trying to pull would just destroy him. So how’s about this? We turn around, get you back to your tower, you give me back my satchel, you keep that amazing uncle-nephew relationship based on mutual trust intact, and you and I part as unlikely friends. Sounds good, right?” Qrow gave Clover an innocent smile, genuine through the hopefulness of it despite the fact that its motivation opposed its very recipient.

Immediately, Clover’s expression hardened into something completely unimpressed.

Damn it.

“Nice try,” he snorted, flicking Qrow’s hand off of his shoulder and standing up, “but you’re not getting out of this so easily. I’m seeing those lanterns, and you’re helping me do so, whether you like it or not.”

Defeated, Qrow grunted. 

“Come on!” he groaned, lifting up his arms dramatically. “What’s it gonna take for you to give me back that satchel?”

Clover raised Kingfisher, brandishing it close to Qrow’s face. “I will use this,” he threatened.

Qrow rolled his eyes and raised his hand in a surrendering fashion. By now, he knew better than to dismiss any notion that that threat would absolutely be seen all the way through, and he could honestly be spared another headache. 

Any more and he would probably forget his name.

Clover grabbed Raven and put her back on his shoulder. She gave him what had to be a mocking tweet, to which Qrow glared at.

Qrow was about to gesture Clover in the direction they needed to go to officially start this trip to the capital when suddenly, a nearby bush ruffled. The bush’s large size and placement directly adjacent to an even larger rock made it impossible to identify who or what was behind it.

Before Qrow could hope to investigate it, Clover ran behind him, taking Qrow’s shoulders into one of his hands and raising Kingfisher in the other, all the while pulling Qrow close to him. From behind him, Clover was shaking, and Qrow felt every bit of the action as it was happening.

“Who are you?” Clover shouted, both to Qrow and whatever it was that was in the bush. Qrow winced at the volume. “A crook? A miscreant? I don’t care! Whoever you are, I’m not afraid of you!”

The bush rustled further, startling Clover more and more until finally, it parted.

Through the green leaves, the form of a tiny dog emerged, a ditzy-looking black and white puppy with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

Qrow, mirroring Clover’s earlier movement, shot both the dog and Clover an unimpressed look. 

“Stay calm,” he said, the deadpan nature of his tone as thick as a tree trunk. “It can probably smell fear.” He expectantly looked to Clover, who was still clinging to his shoulders for dear life, even as it clearly dawned upon him that the dog that stood before him was about as dangerous as a daisy.

As soon as Clover apparently remembered himself, he, obviously embarrassed, separated himself from Qrow. 

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “Guess I’m a bit jumpy.”

Qrow was just about to respond with a quip about how the only way a puppy could possibly be threatening would be if it licked him to death when something occurred to him.

“We should probably avoid crooks and miscreants though, right?” he suggested. 

“If possible, that would be preferred,” Clover answered, chuckling, even as his arms now clung to his own body.

Well, if a puppy was able to elicit that kind of jumpy reaction out of him, perhaps something a bit...more perilous might give Clover the push he needed to end this trip prematurely and get him back his satchel.

And fortunately for Clover, Qrow had just the place in mind to show Clover exactly that kind of peril.

Qrow smiled. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “Because I don’t know about you, but I could absolutely go for some lunch.”

Clover’s tongue slipped across his upper lip, a hungry-sounding hum leaving his mouth. “Where would we go?”

Qrow pat the shoulder Raven wasn’t currently on. “About a quarter of a mile that way,” he said, poking in the place’s direction, “but trust me -- you’ll know it when you smell it!” Qrow grabbed the tip of Kingfisher and started delicately pulling it, his smile widening upon feeling Clover freely following him.

Yes, Clover was a weird guy -- Gods’ knew that probably wasn’t about to change -- but the weirdness he encompassed was a weirdness Qrow found he was finally starting to get the hang of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't comment, have a great day, and don't forget: Black Lives Matter and Trans Rights are Human Rights! I love you all! Bye!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I’m sorry if this chapter feels a smidge out of place! I was seeing some family this weekend and the next chapter I had planned was just a bit too complicated for me to give it the focus I wanted to. So instead, I prepared a little mid-space chapter so that I could still give you an update! I hope you like it!

Clover Callows felt that like his uncle, he was an intelligent man. He tended to soak up facts Uncle Tyrian told him like a sponge, had a great understanding of scientific fields like astronomy, physics, and biology, took interests in a variety of hobbies ranging from cooking to reading to exercising, and studied all that Uncle Tyrian brought into the tower with a certain methodical thoroughness, whether it be books, elements of nature, or even pieces of food.

However, according to Uncle Tyrian, there was a point where intelligence transcended from just being a collection of facts into being smart and able to do something with those facts. As he described it, what he truly felt allowed someone to graduate from just being intelligent to being truly smart was the ability to take the facts he had and make informed and accurate deductions based off of them.

It was a sentiment Clover found himself strongly agreeing with, and within the confines of his tower, Clover was confident that he encompassed what it meant to be a smart man rather than just an intelligent one. The tower was a finite space with only so many components to make deductions and inferences based off of. It was only natural that he would master anything brought into it if not immediately, then soon after.

That said, Clover was no longer in his tower. He was in a world that felt infinite, a world with people, people he didn’t necessarily understand on anything more than a linguistic level. As he had to constantly remind himself, he was playing by new rules, rules he might end up failing at grasping.

As much as he wished it wasn’t the truth, Clover had reason to doubt whether or not he would truly prove to be smart outside of the tower. Uncle Tyrian had never used the word ‘smart’ to describe Clover before, even while he dutifully stayed in his home. Clover never let himself think too much on that fact, mostly attributing that to a belief that there was just never a time for it to naturally come up. However, there was a second possible reason, once Clover never wanted to acknowledge despite the fact that it may very well have been frustratingly true -- even if Uncle Tyrian thought Clover was smart within the tower, he might not have felt like he was or would ever be smart outside of it, and didn’t want to encourage the growth of undeserved cockiness over a matter that could very well be the difference between life and death by saying otherwise.

It made sense. After all, Uncle Tyrian always told him that for as intelligent as he was, the outside world would eat his naivety and inexperience alive without so much as a second thought, and it wasn’t like he was great at the outside humor his uncle used. If that was anything to go by, then Uncle Tyrian was probably right to not call him as such. 

Nevertheless, the outside world was what he was to traverse through in order to see the floating lanterns, and so for once, he would put all he had in his brain to the ultimate test. 

Clover guessed the moment of truth for that matter was now at hand.

Since leaving the tower, Clover hadn’t had much of a chance to make deductions, at least not the kind that would do him all that much good in the world beyond his tower. He noticed things about the forest and caves, but once they got to the capital or even lunch, it was anyone’s guess -- least of all, Clover’s -- as to what he’d be able to infer about his surroundings.

However, there was one deduction-based decision that he made inside the tower that the fallout of which was still playing out even well outside its boundaries -- the decision to trust one Qrow Branwen.

Trusting Qrow Branwen proved to be a mixed bag, and something told Clover that an answer to whether or not choosing to trust him was a good idea wouldn’t reveal itself for some time yet. He was no doubt both intelligent and smart regarding the ways of the outside world as well as modestly crafty -- if only because of that amazing weapon of his -- but he had also proved himself wily, slippery, and odd in his mannerisms -- not to mention far more smug than he had any right being. 

Even beyond that though, since he met Qrow, there was one thing about him that had nagged at Clover in much the same way Raven nagged at him every morning for her breakfast.

Qrow had told Clover he’d been chased, and escaping his pursuer or pursuers was his sole motivation for climbing Clover’s tower. Clover had no trouble believing that was true, especially when supplemented by Qrow’s lack of awareness over his semblance.

However, that begged the question as to who or what he was escaping from in the first place.

Right after Clover stuffed Qrow’s unconscious form into his closet back in the tower, there was something that stuck out about him. Everything that Qrow seemed to have on his person made sense to be there -- his clothes, his weapon, his sheath, his cheekbones.

At least that seemed to be the case...until Clover found Qrow’s satchel.

The pin was weird enough, beautiful and refined, but crooked and shoddily made in the same breath, but Clover also realized as he was stashing it away that that pin wasn’t just the primary object in Qrow’s satchel -- it was the only thing in there.

Clover may not have left the tower in his life before just under two hours ago, but even he knew that when one traveled, they packed more in their bags than just a single pin, no matter how beautiful it was.

So what was Qrow’s relation to the pin in his satchel?

Frankly, he had a guess.

After all, Qrow was slippery, so if the circumstances behind what put that satchel in Qrow Branwen’s possession were what Clover thought they were, it wouldn’t exactly surprise him.

Still, as confident that Clover was about the truth of his guess, he had no concrete evidence, and while Clover had been proven right about a lot today, the only thing that had thrown him for a loop was just how non-threatening Qrow turned out to be. Sure, he was borderline shifty at times, but actively dangerous or malicious to Clover or his safety? No, Clover couldn’t say he was, so without any proof of his theory about Qrow’s immediate past before they met, he had to admit that he was in no place to impose such a judgment over his character. 

That proved to be the case until about fifteen minutes into their trek to go get lunch, when a chance gust of wind flew by the forest he and Qrow traversed through. While Clover still felt his heart soar with every blow that came his way, he had grown wonderfully accustomed to the feeling of the wind circling his body like an invisible arm cuddling his waist.

What he wasn’t used to was the flapping noise that it carried with it this time.

Clover knew what the flaps of birds’ wings sounded like. Even though Raven was flightless, he never let himself forget the day they met and the copious amount of flapping sounds he heard during her battle with the hawk. 

Whatever this noise was from, it wasn’t a bird.

No, Clover knew exactly what the sound was once he eliminated that possibility.

He looked out into the stretch of forest before him, studying the area until he found exactly what it was he was searching for. 

Perpendicular to the path he and Qrow were following, Clover spotted it still flapping a bit in the aftershock of the wind’s gust -- a piece of paper. 

Clover had heard the sound of flapping paper many times before, a sign that a storm might be on its way or just a quick means of ending his reading time prematurely. He knew the sound of it like the back of his hand.

The paper he saw stuck out from the edge of the tree’s curve, seeming to be attached to it.

Now that was an interesting sight. What was on it?

Clover and Raven exchanged intrigued expressions.

Even though it was off the path Qrow had directed them towards to go get lunch, Clover couldn’t help himself. When one only had a couple of days to make a lifetime’s worth of memories, diversions were only natural. Raven certainly seemed to have no objections to defying their guide and while Clover found their rivalry to be just a step or two above childish, he couldn’t argue with the excuse provided to go explore something.

Curious, Clover approached the paper.

“What’s this?” he asked, not so much to ask a question, but to make sure Qrow knew that they were taking a little detour. Judging by the loud sigh he heard immediately after he finished speaking, it seemed to do the trick perfectly.

Clover moved to the other side of the tree, placing his left index finger on the page to hold it steady as he looked at it.

And look at it he did. 

Clover had a feeling that he might have even been proved to be right about Qrow’s relationship to the pin in his satchel by the end of their trip, but he didn’t expect to be proven right in such a head-on way as looking directly at a wanted poster with Qrow’s face on it.

His deduction was right.

Turned out that he was smart after all.

From behind him, Clover could tell that Qrow had seen the poster’s contents as well, not only by the rustling of the bushes beside him, but by the mix of a tired sigh and a grunt that left his mouth. 

For a moment, Clover honestly didn’t know what to make of this development. Sure, Qrow had shown himself as nothing but non-threatening so far -- barring his reasoning for his weapon choice -- but that was when he had something akin to anonymity on his side. Now, stripped of that, Clover would’ve been lying if he said that more than a few questions didn’t pop up in his mind during those first few seconds after sensing his presence.

Was knowing this detail about Qrow so plainly to his face going to affect the person Clover thought him to be? Was there a threatening side to Qrow that this bit of information was possibly going to bring out of him? Had Qrow been lying about not knowing Clover’s semblance, planning on taking him somewhere he could better defeat him?

No, none of that felt right, but all the same, Qrow clearly wasn’t happy about this poster’s existence, nor likely the fact that Clover had now seen it.

Qrow mumbled something, something that despite their relative proximity to each other, Clover couldn’t quite make out.

“What did you say?” Clover asked as he turned to look at his traveling companion, trying heroically to keep the faltering of his nerves at bay.

Once more, Qrow mumbled something, but like before, Clover still couldn’t hear it, apart from one word: ‘thief.’

Was he trying to own up to being a thief, or deny it?

Clover had no idea.

“Come again?”

This time, Qrow groaned, loudly and openly.

“I’m not a thief!” he all but shouted. “I’m a bandit! There’s a difference!” Qrow didn’t even look like he was yelling at Clover, but rather the poster on the tree.

Clover’s eyebrow raised as a wave of incredulousness came over him.

He couldn’t be serious, could he?

“That’s what you’re upset about?” 

Clover couldn’t keep his disbelieving tone out of his voice, so he didn’t even try not to.

“It’s my brand!” Qrow shot back without missing a beat.

Nothing but sputters left Clover’s mouth as he tried to figure out how to even begin to unpack Qrow’s words. “You’re on a wanted poster!” 

That felt the most appropriate.

Qrow waved a dismissive hand. 

“I’ve been on those for years,” he said. He then turned back to the poster with a vicious glare. “But despite that, those idiots in the royal guard always get my title wrong!” Clover suddenly felt very tired, in much the same way Qrow was when this conversation started, but for vastly different reasons. 

For Gods’ sake...

“Bandit,” Qrow sneered, continuing his rant against the papery culprit. “Not a thief! Ban-dit. Ban-dit. There’s a difference.” Qrow slapped the poster, and Clover fought the urge to laugh.

It was a fight he largely lost.

“Not really,” he said, chuckling all the while.

Qrow’s sneer stayed present on his face, but directed itself at its new target -- Clover.

“Yes, really,” he argued back.

“Look, Qrow,” Clover said, his confidence overwhelmingly self assured in that moment. “I grew up reading a dictionary for fun. There’s virtually no difference between the two words.”

Qrow seemed like he was about to argue back, but Clover’s words looked to give him a moment’s pause.

“A dictionary?” he asked, clearly confused. Clover honestly couldn’t blame him. Even with his inexperience with other people, he knew that dictionaries were odd things to study so carefully as to point out the distinction -- or in this case, lackthereof -- between two words.

“It’s hard to get books,” Clover argued, shrugging. “A dictionary was the best my uncle could do.”

“Hard to get books?” Qrow asked, incredulousness now lacing his voice like dirt laced the bottom of a boot. “You can just go to the book store and get some. It’s not exactly physics. I swear to the Gods, you just keep getting stranger by the second.”

For a second, Clover was struck in a not-at-all small amount of shock. 

Were they really as easy to get as Qrow said they were? It didn’t seem like he had a reason to lie. The secret, a secret that Clover could tell Qrow was barely trying to keep the longer they traveled together, was now exposed in the most blatant manner possible.

But if Qrow wasn’t lying, then what did that mean? Why did Uncle Tyrian say he had such trouble getting books if they were apparently as easy to obtain as just about anything else?

Perhaps Uncle Tyrian just didn’t want to risk being recognized by people as the man who knew the location of the lucky baby?

Yes, that made sense.

Well, not fully, but it made enough sense for now.

As Clover recovered from his miniature revelation, he scoffed. “At least I’m not throwing a tantrum because only a synonym of my favorite word was used on a wanted poster and not -- oh, I don’t know -- the fact that you’re on a wanted poster!”

Qrow returned the scoff. “As if they could even get me.”

“I got you,” Clover pointed out, smirking. 

“I said it before -- I was distracted and you got lucky. It wouldn’t happen again.” 

Clover groaned under his breath, careful to keep his smirk up. There Qrow went, walking right into the word ‘lucky’ as if it was a lake filled with those poorly put together emerald pins. More so the fact that each use was a coincidence than anything is what drove Clover crazy.

Who managed to do that accidentally so many times?

Qrow pointed to the poster. “The guards in the kingdom have been trying to arrest me for years now, but to no success,” he continued, oblivious to Clover’s silent plight. “And it’s not like they could with how wrong they got my hair. Newsflash -- it’s not that messy!” Once more, he shouted that sentiment not at Clover, but at the poster.

Clover’s smirk immediately dissolved into a laughter-filled smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! They got your hair perfectly!” he barked. Remembering himself, Clover settled down somewhat. “But I knew it! That pin in your satchel -- You stole it!”

“It’s n-!” Qrow looked like he wanted to finish that thought, but seemingly decided it wasn’t worth his or Clover’s time judging by the dismissive wave of his hand. “Well, what of it, smarty pants?” he defensively asked instead.

“Stealing is wrong!”

“Maybe it is --”

“It absolutely is.” Clover interjected, giving Qrow a deadpan look that practically screamed ‘even I know that.’ 

Qrow just shrugged before continuing.

“Look muscles, if it’ll help you sleep any better, I didn’t exactly put a poor family out on the streets by stealing it. I nabbed it off of some rich general. He’s got plenty to live off of, even without it. If anything, I’m actually making use out of the thing instead of continuing to let it collect dust in some attic like it was -- good for the economy, you know?” Clover’s expression stayed the same -- positively deadpanned. Qrow rolled his eyes. “Well, think what you want, smarty pants. Once I get that satchel back, I’m gonna be one rich man. Now, come on.”

Despite Qrow’s dismissive attitude towards the nickname he bestowed onto Clover, Clover himself couldn’t help but smile as he followed Qrow’s lead.

‘Smarty pants.’

Was it the most mature of nicknames? No.

Hell, in just about every way, he even preferred ‘muscles’ to it, though he’d never admit it to Qrow’s face. At least that one was specific to himself and not as much of a mouthful as ‘smarty pants.’

However, what it lacked in elegance or cleverness, it more than made up for in meaning. ‘Smarty pants’ in that moment had an extra level of meaning to Clover, something Qrow likely ran into by accident, but was all the same appreciated. To Clover, it meant that he might actually be smart enough to get by in the outside world after all, and maybe even for more than just this trip to see the lanterns.

Clover’s stomach growled. The detour was nice, but it was now time to get a move on and get some lunch.

Full of confidence from Qrow’s unintentional validation, Clover suddenly found the prospect of talking to other people a little bit less scary, provided they weren’t any more intimidating than Qrow had shown himself to be thus far.

“So, what’s the name of the place we’re going to for lunch?” Clover asked, happy to see Qrow perk up at his question.

“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s a quaint little place called Lil’ Miss Malachite’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you review or don't, I hope you have an exceptional day!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...You guys are either going to love me for this chapter or hate me! Just so you know, I’m preparing an umbrella for the things you’re going to fling at me for this one! XD Anyway, enjoy!

Sometimes, raising Clover Ebi -- or rather, Clover Callows, as he now called him -- as his own ‘nephew’ was more trouble than it was worth. 

Sometimes, it was a lot more trouble than it was worth, so much so that Tyrian had to remind himself that it was an endeavor that still merited seeing through.

Right now, as Tyrian trudged through the forests of Remnant, it felt like one of those times.

‘Uncle Tyrian! I put some dough in an oven and managed not to burn the tower to the ground! Aren’t I so smart?’

‘Uncle Tyrian, I want to see some stupid green lights and give away my identity to everyone you’ve carefully hidden it from for over twenty years!’

‘Uncle Tyrian, I want new paint from the furthest Gods damned corner of this dog’s dropping of a continent! Go get me some as well as a bag full of some other trash from the ground!’

What. A. Pest.

For twenty years, he’d had to live with that constant pest yammering in his ear all day long, asking -- nay, begging -- for trash or praise for his mediocre accomplishments or answers to his positively inexhaustible supply of banal questions.

This domestic life caring for Clover that Tyrian had subjected himself to was without question relentlessly dull, annoying, boring, and miserable.

Gods, if it weren’t for his semblance, he’d-

Well, if it weren’t for his semblance, Tyrian wouldn’t be so close -- so very, very close -- to being Salem’s right hand man, and with his ‘nephew’s’ continued help, he’d likely get that spot soon enough.

After all, that’s how he’d gotten so far. Others near the top of her hierarchy had fallen prey to many tragic ‘accidents’ over the years. 

Who could have predicted how Arthur Watts’ latest invention would not only malfunction, but that the explosion would release chemicals that came together to act as a pheromone for Grimm? 

How cruel could fate be to have the support beam that Hazel Rainart was hiding behind collapse just as he was about to complete his most recent mission for Salem?

What could have been done to prevent Leo Lionheart from attempting to desert Salem’s forces just as she’d had one hundred Grimm return from battle eager for something -- or rather, someone -- to eat?

And what sort of disaster would just the tiniest bit of luck have in store for Cinder Falls, Salem’s current right hand?

So yes, Clover was a pest, but he was a pest that nonetheless had been very successful at improving Tyrian’s placement in Salem’s hierarchy.

Tyrian supposed it stood to reason that he had to do things to keep Clover happy to ensure that that would only continue. He’d been careful to never push his luck too hard in that regard, knowing that even fear and guilt had its limits on what they could make a person willingly endure, and after their fight -- especially when it involved discussing actually going outside -- Tyrian knew Clover was getting agitated enough to possibly act on his desires.

Tyrian wasn’t about to let that happen, and so now here he was, about to make a trip all the way to the Argus Coves.

It was an ordeal, if for no other reason than that he’d be away from Salem, but it was one he would suffer all the same in her name.

He was lucky -- Salem had decided to spend the next fortnight in her Grimm pools, devising new forms for her malicious, yet stunning pets to take. She wouldn’t need his -- or, more importantly, anyone else’s -- services, nor ask about his whereabouts -- not that she ever did, always so respectful of her loyal subject’s privacy.

Salem trusted him…

In return, just as he gave her his unconditional admiration, he also gave her lies.

Tyrian hated lying to her about Clover, but he reasoned that helping her by channeling all of Clover’s luck into her most adoring servant’s being would be a better way of ensuring her victories. After all, who else would care about nothing more than Salem’s continued successes? Her other minions all had their own concerns and even if they didn’t, Train found that they were about as competent as a cat being trained to not drink milk.

In any event, his strategy had worked over the past two decades, and if he had anything to say about it, it would continue to work for the rest of his days. Perhaps, should he not only tell Clover about her, but also inspire him to love her as well -- and he absolutely could -- his scheme would persist even after his death.

He could only hope, for it was what Salem deserved.

Salem...Salem was a Goddess -- radiant, bold, cunning, enchanting, beautiful in both her body and soul, wise, gentle, ruthless, and far more qualities than Tyrian couldn’t state with all the world’s air in his lungs on top of even that. How the pitiful wastes of life in Remnant managed to not only not spend every waking moment of their purposeless days either bowing before her glory or gathering gifts to bestow upon her, but actually oppose her, he’d never know.

Cretins, the lot of them -- hopelessly lost cretins.

And of all the cretins Remnant had to offer, he got stuck with the worst of them to play the role of a lifelong babysitter -- and at present, delivery boy -- for.

Tyrian mentally mapped out his trip. If he stayed at a steady speed, took regular breaks, and ate and slept as he planned, he’d be at the Argus Coves by tomorrow afternoon. He’d spend two or three hours collecting shells and then head back to the tower. While he hated collecting the shells, and knew it would be a complete bore of a chore, it was best not to give Clover any reason to ask for more of them next year, or the next few of them, for that matter.

Then again, Clover had shown himself to be at least a little unpredictable, so he could only guess as to how quickly he would go through those paints, or what else he would desire for future birthdays.

After all, somehow, Clover had managed to conceal that mural of his from him for Gods knew how long. If it wasn’t for the subject matter of its depiction, Tyrian would almost be impressed by that bit of stealth. Clearly, he’d taught Clover well.

However, he may have been teaching Clover too well. If he could conceal an entire wall of the tower from him, what else could he be hiding? That tower might not have been large and Clover never left it, but it was fitted with many a nook and cranny for which to tuck away any number of trinkets.

Well, he’d just have to have a little search when he got back to the tower. He could disguise it as a game of hide and seek or just a checkup to make sure Clover was cleaning his living space well enough.

Clover might have believed himself to be clever -- he may have even crossed the threshold of cleverness a few times in his life -- but Tyrian knew he could put him in his place easily enough. Given how much lip disguised as wit Clover had started to show as of recent, perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to do so sooner rather than later.

Tyrian had just started to drum up more ideas for how to best reign in his ‘nephew’ when suddenly, he heard a voice cry out.

“Let me go!” It was a man’s voice, one Tyrian thought he might have recognized, but was unable to recall its source on just it alone.

“Not a chance, you thief!” a woman’s voice responded, a low chuckle underneath her words. 

Now that voice, Tyrian was reasonably sure he did recognize.

Before he could confirm it, another set of noises grabbed his attention -- the woman’s, and by the sounds of it, others’ footsteps were approaching

Quickly, Tyrian hid himself behind a tree, and just in time. Keeping careful as to remain unspotted, Tyrian peeked to look at the opposite side of the tree.

There, a group of five people, one of whom seemed to be something of a prisoner held tightly in one of their arms, emerged into his line of sight.

However, the four non imprisoned people weren’t just any people.

They were the Ace Ops. 

Comprised of General Ironwood’s four children -- Harriet Bree, Elm Ederne, Marrow Amin, and Vine Zeki -- The Ace Ops served as the leaders of Remnant’s royal guard.

But what were they doing here?

Tyrian had only a small handful of run-ins with the Ace Ops all that much over the years since their formation, but despite that, he knew all about them, from their names to their weapons to their semblances -- when one was regularly gathering intel, threatening informants, and killing bystanders and witnesses who saw him doing either of those things in order to best assist Salem’s strikes against the kingdom’s capital, it was practically a requirement. 

Because of that, it was odd to see Harriet on a horse, given that her semblance revolved around her own speed, but Tyrian didn’t let himself think about it too much, preferring to get an answer to his inquiry about just what led them so far out in the woods.

He looked at the prisoner in Elm’s arms and immediately, his eyes bulged with recognition.

Mercury Black.

Tyrian knew this man well. He was a thief, and unfortunately, a rather good one, or at least he seemed to be prior to this moment.

Salem had given Mercury not a small amount of her attention as of late. She entertained the idea of him as a prospective recruit for her forces, sending him out on missions to see just how much he could achieve. While he lacked Tyrian’s dedication to serving her, Mercury’s talent and need for direction as well as means for his survival in the cruel world they lived in piqued Salem’s interests. Like a lump of clay, Salem felt that she could perhaps mold him into a model member of her inner circle, one strong enough to enact her schemes and ready as well as willing to die for her at a moment’s notice.

Alas, it looked like Mercury’s talents had failed him. Tyrian knew Salem well and a failure that ended up with him in the custody of the Ace Ops of all people was likely a big one, all but guaranteeing the destruction of any interest she had in Mercury as a member of her forces.

Well, that just meant more attention and admiration for Tyrian to enjoy. 

And not only that, but he would have the esteemed pleasure of reporting the news of his -- judging by Elm’s grip -- literally crushing defeat to Salem once she returned to her throne.

How lucky was that?

Hmm. So this is why he had to get Clover those paints. 

It was a worthwhile enough sacrifice.

“Let me go!” Mercury repeated.

“I don’t think so, buddy!” Elm said, gripping Mercury tight in her unwavering hold, her feet firmly on the ground as to restrain any attempts of his to fight out of her grasp.

It didn’t appear to stop him from trying though.

What a waste of his goddess’ sights he turned out to be.

From her horse, Harriet turned to him. “If I can’t bring my father Branwen’s head, then I’m at least bringing him yours!”

“I don’t even have the stupid brooch!” Mercury yelled, still fighting for some nonexistent leeway in Elm’s vice like grip, not that he’d get that far if he even found it with the three other Ace Ops directly next to her. 

“Don’t you worry -- it will be found.” Harriet then looked out to the team. “Elm, stay here with the prisoner and keep an eye out for Branwen. Vine, Marrow, and I will continue to comb the forest, and we’ll reconvene here in an hour with our findings. We’re not going home without that brooch.” The determination in Harriet’s voice had Tyrian bite his lip.

Crap. Knowing Harriet, that last sentiment may very well have been a true one.

In the twenty years since Tyrain took Clover, guards have searched the forest, but they’d never come across the tower’s hidden entryway. While the brooch was likely nowhere near the tower, and the Ace Ops were still roughly a quarter of a mile out from its exact location, Tyrian couldn’t help but acknowledge the feeling of unease in his stomach.

If Remnant’s most specialized guards -- Clover’s siblings, no less -- were searching this bit of the forest, whether looking for their long-lost brother or not...they might actually find something more than just some brooch.

Harriet directed the horse she was riding on towards the tower’s general direction.

Clover!

Knowing what he had to do, Tyrian slunk away from his hiding place and snuck through the forest, careful to keep both a strong distance between himself and Harriet as well cautious, yet quick movements to pass her and get back to the tower before she could ever learn about its existence. 

It wasn’t hard. Tyrian had traversed these woods so much over the course of his life, especially over the past two decades, that he grew to know them better than he did his own hand. Every twist and turn and fork in the road on its dirt-floored surface was committed to his memory like the appearance of the very sun that shone above him.

When Tyrian at last made it to the tower’s entryway, he was well ahead of Harriet, ensuring that he would be absolutely safe crossing the canopy of vines in a way that would keep him as well as their odd disposition unspotted by her.

Tyrian rushed through the caves and clearing, all the way to the base of the tower.

“Clover!” Tyrian called out when he finally arrived. “I forgot my rain boots! Bring me back up!”

It was an odd excuse -- especially as there was no sign of rain coming for the foreseeable future -- but Clover would ask why he came back if he didn’t have one at the ready all the same.

Tyrian waited a second for Clover to respond, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, when he called to the tower, he heard nothing back. It was a foreign feeling, one that at present grated on Tyrian’s nerves like a room of mumblers.

“Clover!” he half shouted and half growled. “Wake up!”

Still, not a sound left the tower. 

As soon as he realized that no sound would be coming out, Tyrian whipped the sharp, metallic end of his tail out and slammed it into the dirt between the tower’s bricks, pulling himself up and then clinging to the bricks with the help of his blades as his tail ascended his form further up the tower’s length.

It was a method for climbing the tower that he hadn’t used in years, manually climbing it himself -- practically antiquated thanks to Clover’s weapon, but it was handy in a pinch.

Right now, Tyrian absolutely felt like he was in the pinchiest of pinches.

With exhaustion that only climbed in magnitude as the seconds passed, Tyrian made his way the tower.

Tyrian called out Clover’s name twice as he rose from the ground, but to no avail. Clover’s room was as quiet as a tomb.

Oh, that room would be a tomb alright when he was finished with Clover…

No, he couldn’t think that way...as much as he wanted to...

Upon reaching the tower’s window, Tyrian paused for no more than but a second to catch his breath, looking around the room frantically all the while.

The tower was dark.

The tower was quiet.

Neither of those things had ever been true when a waking Clover Callows roamed its singular upper room.

Hell, thanks to his brat’s snores, the tower was never quiet, even when he was sleeping!

As soon as Tyrian had recovered enough of his breath to continue, he ran to Clover’s bed, pulling off the blankets with a harsh tug.

Clover was going to pay when he woke up.

However, underneath the covers, there was no Clover.

“Clover!” Tyrian called out.

Maybe...maybe he was just using the bathroom...in the dark...without noticing his uncle’s cries…

Tyrian rushed to the bathroom, but just as with Clover’s bed, Clover wasn’t there.

Oh Gods, where was he?

Confused, Tyrian ran around the tower, tearing apart anything Clover might be hiding or sleeping either in or under. He even opened the door to the tower’s stairwell which led to his own room and checked there. However, not one place held Clover’s form.

As Tyrian approached the tower’s window, he couldn’t help but run his fingers through his hair in much the same fashion as he searched for Clover -- frantically.

Was he actually kidnapped?

There seemed to be no sign of a struggle, and he’d taught Clover to distrust outsiders enough to at least cause something of a scuffle should one ever show their face in the tower.

Suddenly though, something removed Tyrian from his thoughts.

By the bottom of the tower’s small balcony’s staircase, a small glimmer of something was reflecting off the sun, creating a glare of light that went right into Tyrian’s left eye. Tyrian sidestepped the glare’s direct trajectory, but kept its location in his mind as he steadily approached it.

He had given Clover many things over his nearly twenty years in this tower, but never had he been given something so shiny as to create such a harsh glare.

What the hell could this be?

Upon reaching the staircase, Tyrian lifted the semi-broken plank where the glimmering object sat. 

Inside the makeshift cupboard was a satchel...and inside the satchel was an emerald encrusted, clover-shaped brooch.

No…

It couldn’t be...

Had Clover learned of his identity?

While it made all too much sense for his mind to go there, Tyrian fought the instinct with facts. If Clover had learned who he really was, why would he leave behind the key piece of evidence of his discovery? He clearly wasn’t trying to make a point to Tyrian given how he hid the brooch in such an odd location and didn’t provide his beloved ‘Uncle Tyrian’ with so much as a note for context concerning the brooch’s existence and his reaction to it. 

No, for some reason, Clover wanted the brooch and the satchel that held it to remain here, and Tyrian immediately swore to himself that he was going to discover that reason before any havoc on his life could be further wreaked.

He already had an inkling of a clue.

The Ace Ops were searching for a man called ‘Branwen’ -- whoever that was. Tyrian believed he’d heard the name once or twice in passing, but based on what they were saying, Branwen was a thief, a thief that had stolen the brooch. 

It now made sense as to what mission Salem had put Mercury up to, as well as why the Ace Ops were called to take on a thief.

Wherever Clover was, it was likely with Branwen, and judging by the still revealed painting of Clover’s wish, Tyrian had a pretty good idea of where it was they were going.

Now, all he had to do was find them and end this trip of lunacy before they got there.

Tyrain warped the satchel in a bundle and hid it in the basket Clover had prepared for him. He then felt for the handles of his blades, The Queen’s Servants. Even without touching them, he could sense they were as hungry to restore his brand of order as he was.

It was a good feeling.

Approaching the tower’s window, Tyrian shot the long way down an exasperated look.

What a pain this was going to be to climb down manually once more for the first time in so long.

He swore to the Gods, without that semblance of Clover’s...

Sometimes, raising Clover was more trouble than it was worth, but for the benefits his semblance provided, Tyrian knew he had no choice but to clean up his ‘nephew’s’ mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this chapter is a bit later than usual! I'm also sorry if it ends up...not being that good. All I can say is that I tried my best!

Let it never be said that Qrow Branwen was ever either without a plan or very far from concocting one.

Developing plans was a skill that certainly helped him as a bandit, and in a matter of minutes, that skill would faithfully serve him once more as he and Clover proceeded to Lil’ Miss Malachite’s.

Qrow took pride in the fact that he knew the world well, that between his intelligence and his semblance, he was able to manipulate the knowledge he possessed as well as his own ‘charms’  to do all manner of things for him.

In fact, the only aspect of the world Qrow felt that he couldn’t say he completely understood was anything regarding Clover -- nor that grouchy raven of his -- but even with Clover, he was starting to make progress on that front. 

After all, most people didn’t show nearly as much of their personalities as Clover did in just the three hours they’d known each other, and there was plenty that Qrow gleaned from what he saw there. Qrow wouldn’t deny that he had more pressing matters to attend to regarding the very satchel Clover was keeping him from, but as he studied Clover as to best redirect him towards that end, he couldn’t help but take some interest in the mystery that was Clover. 

Sure, Clover was without a doubt the oddest person on the planet, his poorly-named bird had done nothing to curry Qrow’s favor in either of their directions, and of course, he was still holding Qrow’s satchel hostage.

But honestly, for someone raised all alone in a tower, Clover was pretty impressive in his own right -- strong, smart, witty, handy with that fishing pole of his, and unfortunately for Qrow, not bad at holding someone to a deal. 

It was almost something of a shame that after this stop and the return to Clover’s tower, they’d be rid of each other for good. 

Still, it had to be done if Qrow was to get that satchel of his back. 

But that didn’t mean Qrow couldn’t allow himself to muse on his traveling companion for the time they still had left together, if for no other reason than it gave him something to do besides just navigate through the forest that stretched on as far as the eye could see.

Clover was...absolutely unlike anyone else Qrow had ever known before -- naive, but only to a point, curious, but also scared easily, and determined, but clearly conflicted as to what he should be determined about. 

“Did you get us lost, Qrow?”

Finally, apparently, he was patient, that is, until he got hungry.

There was an inescapable patronizing -- though almost teasingly so -- tone in Clover’s voice as he spoke, a tone that was well reflected in the deadpan accusatory look he gave Qrow.

“No.” Qrow said, half grumbling as he waved a dismissive hand. “It’s close by. I just know it.”

“You sure about that?” Clover shot back. “Because you said that five minutes ago.”

Oh, and cheeky. Clover was undeniably, borderline groan-inducingly cheeky.

Qrow was about to show Clover a bit of his own cheekiness when he suddenly spotted something.

“I see the roof,” he said, pointing just above a hill as a recognizing smile grew on his face. “This way, muscles.”

Yet again, Clover huffed at the nickname, but Qrow didn’t care -- he loved it, for no other reason than how it riled Clover up just enough to get an annoyed pout out of him.

Qrow could watch Clover make that look all day.

“There it is! Lil’ Miss Malachite’s, in the flesh!”

Qrow half expected Clover to pull out a double dose of cheekiness and correct him by saying that buildings didn’t have flesh, but upon glancing at Clover, Qrow saw he was too entranced by the building to bother.

True to Qrow’s word, but three feet from them was a sign for the establishment, green letters against a blue background that read ‘Lil’ Miss Malachite’s,’ and just beyond that sign was the tavern itself.

Qrow had to hand it to himself -- even though he’d been in and out of this place more times than he could count, its quaint outer surface still even managed to fool him for a second into thinking the pub was...different from its current reputation.

Seemingly crafted nestled against the large oak tree that curled behind it, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s was simply lovely looking. Within the clearing where it stood, a purple and green speckled roof covered the restaurant’s wooden front alongside colorful carvings around every window and door.

For Gods’ sake, there were even horses in front of it!

How much more picturesque could it get?

Clover had clearly fallen in love with the place. Right now, he was marveling at the horses.

This guy…he clearly liked nature and animals a lot.

Qrow considered seeing if he could find that puppy they spotted earlier on their way back to the tower after this and give it to Clover as a little animal friend.

It would certainly be an improvement over that bird on his shoulder, no matter what Clover thought.

Then again, that uncle of Clover’s didn’t know he’d left on this trip, so there’d be no way he could sneak a dog up the tower without giving that little detail away. 

Maybe he’d just grab Clover a butterfly or something.

That would make him happy, right?

Well, either way, he’d decide on that after his plan worked.

And it would work.

“Isn’t it just picture perfect?” Qrow asked, turning to Clover. “Nice and quaint. After all, no need to scare you off from this trip of yours, right?”

“It is beautiful,” Clover admitted, smiling. “I mean, if we’re going to stop somewhere to eat, this looks like a good spot.”

Qrow smirked. “See, muscles? Who knows better than Qrow Branwen?”

Clover snorted amusedly. “With all that bragging you do, you’re more like a peacock than a crow, if you ask me.” He seemed pretty happy with the quip, and apparently couldn’t help but burst out into laughter at the deadpan look Qrow shot his way for it.

He was not a peacock.

“Well, let’s not wait any longer,” Qrow said, gesturing his hand towards the restaurant and dodging Clover’s quip.

“Sounds great!”

They made their way to the restaurant’s door, and with a creak, Qrow carefully opened it.

“Table for two!” he called out, though confident that over all the ruckus of the tavern, he wouldn’t be heard.

For his money, Qrow preferred that it would have stayed that way, especially by the management. 

If he had timed their arrival right -- and he was certain he did -- one particular part of that management team wouldn’t be here. The window was tight, but Qrow believed he could manage it.

After all, as long as he had anything to say about it, luck was decidedly not on her side.

How unfortunate would it be for her to have missed them.

Oh, well.

Clover walked halfway through the now opened door...and then he stopped.

Qrow knowing exactly why, smirked, as he looked into the dark tavern.

Unlike its quaint outskirts, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s interior was anything but quaint -- unless your definition of ‘quaint’ was closer to anyone else’s definition of ‘seedy.’ Dark wood covered the walls and through the inclusion of some olive green curtains, only a handful of candles and a small fireplace in the back provided light for the tavern. 

However, the most interesting feature of the place -- like any place -- was its people. As far as the eye could see ahead, people occupied the tables and standing space, all with tones and looks that came across as rowdy as the day was long.

Speaking from experience, Qrow could attest to the fact that the impression was one well earned by Lil’ Miss Malachite’s patrons.

They looked like crooks.

  
They looked like miscreants.

They looked like everyone that that uncle of Clover’s had probably ever warned him about.

And Qrow, putting his hands on Clover’s shoulders from behind him, inched him towards them.

Finally, his plan was in motion.

Clover immediately took out Kingfisher, brandishing it close to his chest with shaking hands as he and Qrow waded through the unruly masses.

Everyone had a weapon -- spears, hammers, tridents, sharp crossbows with sharper arrows, and more blades than there were hours in a day. Granted, those weapons largely weren’t in use -- most in sheathes and lazily left on the floor -- but it was their sheer presence and numbers that Qrow was counting on.

And oh, did those miscreants come through for him.

At this point, they’d probably be out of here before they even got a table.

He could practically hear every word Clover was thinking, but it really just came down to three words.

‘Damn it, Qrow…’

Happy to play the role of the devil when thought of, Qrow leaned in his head close to Clover’s left ear.

“Smell that, muscles?” he asked, absolutely rhetorically. “Take a deep breath of that through the nose. Lots of different types of stinks around here. There’s man stink, ma’am stink, and good old regular stink stink.” Qrow took a pronounced deep breath of his own, content laced in his voice like dirt in a puddle of mud. “Mmm. Gotta love that stink stink.”

No, no Clover did not seem to love that ‘stink stink’ at all, nor did he likely feel any obligation to love it.

“What do you think?” Qrow went on. “What’s your favorite of the stinks?”

Clover, scowling in front of Qrow, turned back to him, clearly about to tell him to shut up when all of the sudden, he stopped.

Qrow looked ahead.

Someone was touching Kingfisher’s tip, and their team had assembled to inspect the bar’s newest occupant alongside her.

Oh, this was likely going to do him in.

The people surrounding Clover -- the Juniper Jaggers -- they weren’t mean or cruel or even necessarily all that scary, but what they were was loud, brash, boundlessly energetic, and in regards to the girl who presently touched Clover’s weapon, lacking in almost any regard for personal space.

They’d been pains in the asses for Qrow to share a bar with in the past, but for the purposes of this particular mission, they were exactly what he needed.

Clover was frozen in place as he looked at the source of the tug.

When he found it, he saw the team’s four members -- two boys and two girls -- standing two to each of his sides -- undoubtedly far too close to him for his liking. 

Then, they started asking questions.

“Where are your shoes?” one of the girls asked. 

“Forget that, Phyrra,” one of the boys dismissed, “Where are your sleeves? We get it, you’ve got muscles -- no need to show them off so much.”

“Looks like someone’s jealous, Jaune,” the other girl teased. “But what I want to know is what’s up with the fishing pole?” She flicked Kingfisher’s rod backward on her finger before releasing it, creating a ‘boing’-like sound. Raven squawked. “Ooh! And your bird! Tell me all about her!”

“And how do you keep your clothes so clean?”

“Ren! This barefoot, muscle-bound guy with a weird fishing pole and a bird walks in, and his cleanliness is what you choose to ask him about?” 

Ren shrugged. “I can’t help it if my curiosity is more inclined to ask about his laundry skills, Nora.”

The four of them continued, mixing arguments amongst themselves with the questions they kept coming up with for Clover.

The initial questions flew at Clover like rapid fire, and others in the bar, while not joining in the questioning, did feast their eyes on the scene, and specifically, Clover.

While the questions themselves were harmless enough, Qrow could tell they were coming at Clover so quickly and with such a large audience that it was overwhelming.

Qrow was tempted to pull him back right there and then -- albeit with much laughing on his part because of how relatively benign they were -- but before he could, Clover took an action all his own.

He ran away.

Unfortunately for him though, the only clear direction to run in was ahead, further into the tavern, so that’s where he went. The Juniper Jaggers, seemingly too caught up in their own musings to realize that the subject of their curiosity had fled, continued arguing amongst themselves.

The laughter bubbling in Qrow’s belly couldn’t contain itself any longer, flowing out of him like water out of a destroyed dam.

Bringing Clover to ‘Lil Miss Malachite’s was a stroke of pure genius.

It was perfect. The folks here weren’t dangerous, per se, but what they were was energetic, weapon-clad, and menacing enough looking.

And Clover was absolutely freaked out by them.

Looks like he knew Clover well after all.

Qrow walked over in his direction, ready to end his plan before Clover ended up passing out, when suddenly, a voice called out to him.

“Well, hello Qrow,” a woman behind the counter scoffed as her hands cleaned a glass with a rag. “Haven’t seen you around here in a long while.” She had cream colored hair and a cream, green, and dirt colored apron.

Among all of the other things Qrow knew, this woman’s identity was one of them.

“Robyn, always a pleasure,” Qrow greeted, bowing his head in an over-the-top manner before shrugging. “Haven’t had a reason to be here in a long while.”

“Oh?” Robyn asked, a rhetorical nature in her words as clear as glass. “What about that tab of yours? I think you forgot to pay that off before you went to do...whatever it was you did.”

“I didn’t forget,” Qrow excused, raising a countering finger. “I just...need a bit of time to get the funds together.”

At that, Robyn sighed. It was an excuse she probably expected, and if Qrow was being honest with himself, it was a mindset well merited. This hadn’t been the first exchange they’d had over this very topic, or even at these very spots they currently stood in.

No, those aspects of the conversation were similar, at least. Others...were different.

Suddenly, he remembered a whole different reason he wanted to be out of here as soon as possible...

“Look,” she said, “I’m not gonna say anything to anyone, but if Lil’ Miss Malachite herself sees you, your time’s gonna be up. You’d better get out of here fast.”

Qrow was about to thank her and ask how much time he had before she was due to get back, but before he could, he heard the now unmistakable sound of Raven squawking at someone who was approaching Clover from behind. 

Jeez, even half a tavern away, he squawks came at his eardrums with the force of an anchor falling into the ocean.

Robyn snorted. “Who’s that guy? White clothes, a fishing rod, a bird on his shoulder, looks scared out of his wits -- what kind of weirdo did you bring to my bar? We’ve already got more than enough of them to go around.”

“Him?” Qrow started, thinking up a quick lie. “He’s just a tourist browsing. I told him myself the nicest pub in all of Remnant was here, and he wanted to see for himself.”

Looks like it was about time to bring this plan home.

“But,” Qrow continued, “I think he’s had his fill of the scenery. I’ll go get him out of your way.”

Robyn shot Qrow a deadpan look, clearly not believing a word of what he said, but Qrow just innocently shrugged as he headed once more for Clover.

He looked terribly freaked out, and so small. If he were in any actual danger, Qrow wouldn’t have been as amused as he was. Even still though, he did take some pity on him.

“Clover,” Qrow said, approaching him, feigning an innocent and concerned tone in his voice. He took a gentle hold of Clover’s shoulder -- the one without Raven on it -- and tugged him in the direction of the exit. “You don’t look so good. Should we turn around, maybe get you home? I mean, this place is a five star joint, and if you can’t handle being here, it might just be best for you to get back to your tower.”

“I know what you’re trying to pull, Qrow, a-and it’s not going to work,” Clover said. “I’m not going back to my tower without seeing those lanterns.” 

Qrow smirked. “Then may I ask why it is you’re following me out of this lovely establishment?”

“I’m still going to see the lanterns,” Clover asserted. “I’m just not going to eat here on the way to see them.”

“We’re gonna have to see people eventually once we get to the capital, and believe me, there’s only more like this crowd to come. What are you gonna do, then?” It was a lie, but one that wasn’t completely a work of fiction by a longshot. After all, while the kingdom’s capital was home to plenty of perfect normal folks such as himself, it also had characters that ranged from as eccentric as the Juniper Jaggers to as shady as Mercury to as uppity as the Ace Ops.

Much to Clover’s evident frustration, it was a legitimate question he’d asked.

“Well,” Clover started, clearly not prepared with an answer. “I’ll-”

“Hold up!” a voice called, interrupting Clover. It was the shout of an older woman with a drawl, and like Robyn, Qrow knew its source all too well. “I’d know that raspy voice anywhere. Branwen! Where are you?”

Crap. He’d taken too much time.

The boss was back.

“Well,” Qrow said, playing up a happy tone, “if it isn’t Lil’ Miss Malachite herself!”

Qrow turned around to shoot at Lil’ Miss Malachite a fake, yet charming enough to him smile, only to pause towards the end of his rotation upon seeing what she held in her hand.

“Looks like you got yourself into a little bit of trouble,” she said, showing off a copy of Qrow’s wanted poster to all of the tavern’s patrons. She then pointed to the bottom of the poster where the word ‘reward’ was listed. “Ooh, and look here! You’re actually worth something. Who’d have ever guessed. After all the money you’ve stiffed me of over the years, I think this reward will settle our debts quite nicely.”

Qrow, urging Clover to get behind him with an arm of his raised cutting off Clover from the rest of the bar, stepped back slowly to try to get out the door.

However, before he could, the door slammed shut. 

“Cardin!” she called out to a young man who stood by the door, watching the scene play out with eager anticipation. “Go get the royal guards. That reward for his head’s gonna have us set for life. Monkey boy, you go guard the door in his place.”

In the blink of an eye, Cardin zoomed out the door and into the forest. The door had been left closed, but abandoned. However, it was only for a second until a blond boy dropped down from the ceiling to block the path to it.

“And you, Robyn!” Lil’ Miss Malachite shouted once more. “Have that motley crew of yours go capture Branwen!”

From behind him, Qrow could feel Clover staring at him, but not with the heat of a glare. 

Instead, it was with worry.

Qrow couldn’t turn back to look at him, whether to assure that they’d be okay, or to give Clover warning before something...less than pleasant happened, for Robyn had jumped up from the bar, whistled for her friends to surround Qrow, and approached him herself.

“Robyn,” Qrow protested.

As she was just a few steps away from him, Robyn bit her lip. 

“Sorry, Qrow,” she said, remorse heavy in her voice. “But a job’s a job, and I can’t afford to lose mine.”

Immediately, Qrow rushed to grab Harbinger, but his arm was grabbed midswing by Robyn’s teammate Fiona, the tips of his fingers only gliding over the blade’s handle for a fraction of a second. The other arm was grabbed a second later by another one, Johanna. Qrow kicked his legs in an attempt to free himself, but they were grabbed all the same by the final member of Robyn’s group, May. All the while as her teammates kept him in place, Robyn looked over the scene to see if they left any stones unturned that could lead to his escape.

And dammit, they didn’t.

He could see Clover in the distance, at a complete loss for what to do.

Qrow couldn’t blame him. Clover had been outside his tower for what -- maybe three hours. To see his guide of all people grabbed and bound, ready to be arrested had to be scary stuff, on top of being surrounded by nothing but miscreants and crooks as far as the eye could see. Clover was strong, but he wouldn’t instigate a fight, not under these circumstances.

Now, the only one of them he knew he could count on to not let him get hurt was captured, likely to be arrested within the next hour.

What was he going to do now?

Completely captured, Qrow tried looking around for a means of escaping his captors, but found none. 

Qrow was good at working with things and qualities he had to find solutions, but at that moment, he really didn’t know what to do next, nor was any idea appearing. 

For the first time in a long time, he was completely left without a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, as you're going to see, I took a...different direction with this chapter than you might have expected (...I realize this happens a LOT with me). I was having some trouble with the next chronological chapter, and I thought this would be an interesting and sensible diversion from the main story while I figured the next part of the story out better.

If there was one feeling Harriet Bree had become increasingly familiar with, it was the feeling of underlying, yet all the same relentless tiredness.

She was tired of hearing reports of Salem’s growing army of Grimm and the havoc they were doing to far away towns and villages.

She was tired of the constant shadow of fear that loomed over every street and shop in her kingdom about when their malicious tormenter would strike next as well as who and what would be lost in the chaos when it inevitably took place.

She was tired of the criminal underbelly in the kingdom that just made getting by harder for good, honest folks.

She was tired of the fact that even with all the power she, her siblings, and her father yielded, there was only so much they could do about any of that.

However, more than any of those things, she was tired of the all but despondent look in her father’s eyes that coated his face every year around this time. 

Harriet was especially tired about the fact that the gazes her siblings gave her all but screamed in her face that she had that same look in her eyes, too.

As the saying went, ‘like father, like daughter,’ she supposed.

Then again, that look in her eyes was just as present on all of their faces, too. She was sure there was some phrase about families who do things together that applied to a heartbreaking situation like theirs, but honestly, she was at a loss to come up with one.

Besides, it didn’t matter -- it wasn’t like their family was complete, anyway.

That hadn’t been the case for over two decades now.

Clover…

Harriet had two brothers and a sister that she was fortunate enough to have in her life. She adored them with every beat of her heart, and she knew they as well as their father felt the same for her.

However, the gap that Clover’s kidnapping created in hers and her family’s hearts was one that couldn’t be filled by anyone else except for him.

Clover...

Where was he? 

Was he even alive? 

What kind of life had he led if he was alive all this time?

Why did the prospect of him being alive make her feel just as anxious as the thought of him being dead?

Damn it!

Of all the things Qrow Branwen could have stolen the day before her brother’s birthday, why did it have to be the brooch? Why did the universe insist on making this anniversary so much worse than it was already going to be, than it was for the past several years?

Was it not enough already that Clover was ripped from their arms before they could even really know him without so much as a clue as to where he’d gone or who had made off with him?

Semblance or not, who stole a baby?!

It had to be Salem, or one of her goons, but why did they never say that they at least had him in their possession? Salem’s castle was well guarded enough, and it wasn’t like she didn’t know they could never brea-

Harriet sighed. She pet the horse she was now walking beside instead of on, and let herself recline against a tree as her hand massaged her nose.

She’d gone down the proverbial rabbit hole that was Clover’s mysterious whereabouts many a time before, especially around Clover’s birthday. All that resulted in that trip were questions, questions with not even hints of possible answers, but instead haunted her with apparitions of a reunited family that was always still a possibility, but less of one with every passing year. 

Vine told her in the past that it wasn’t healthy...right before admitting that he did the same thing nonetheless. 

Even still, he was right.

Harriet would never give up hope that Clover would be found, that their family would be whole once more, but she knew well enough by now to assure herself that that wasn’t going to happen today.

However, she could at least make the next day or two just a bit less taxing on all of their hearts by getting back the last tangible memento of her brother from Qrow Branwen’s clutches.

Pushing herself off the tree, Harriet continued her trudge back to the team’s meeting spot in the forest.

Maybe one of them found something.

After all, they weren’t called the Ace Ops for nothing.

As Harriet approached the clearing where she and her team had agreed to meet, she could hear voices -- Elm’s first, then their prisoner’s, and Vine and Marrow’s soon afterward.

None of them sounded too excited, or given any kind of sign that they hadn’t walked away from their search empty handed.

No, they just sounded tired.

She could certainly slip into that feeling like a well-worn coat.

Harriet walked through the last of the bushes and under the last of the trees that stood between herself and her siblings. 

Just as she’d expected, their bodies reflected their voices, no one looking either curious or triumphant or stimulated.

“Nothing, huh?” she asked, unable to keep the dark, resigned tone out of her voice.

Words left none of them. Marrow shook his head, Vine looked to his shoes, and Elm, still holding their prisoner, bit her lip.

The prisoner Mercury scoffed, earning himself a jerk from Elm’s body.

He growled.

“You’re slowing yourselves down and wasting your time keeping me here,” he then snipped.

“We’re putting a crook like you behind bars,” Marrow shot back, clearly content to allow just a little bit of smugness to get into his tone, “sounds like a good use of our time to me.”

“And yet you can’t get back that brooch. Have to wonder how it is you got the name Ace Ops. Ace Oops seems more appropriate to me.” Mercury then smirked.

Gods, what was it about thieves that made them enjoy bragging so much? 

Weren’t they supposed to be quiet? Wasn’t that the one good thing about them?

Ignoring Mercury’s remark, Marrow looked to the group.

“Did anyone find any clues?” he asked, “Or maybe run into someone who saw him? Or saw signs of a scuffle or even just shop prints?”

Once more, silence reigned. Even Mercury didn’t respond, seemingly caught between annoyance over his accomplice’s escape as well as his own captivity and satisfaction that at least they hadn’t succeeded in their task of retrieving the brooch.

What a bastard he was.

Vine met Harriet’s eyes.

“What do we do now?”

Harriet, for the life of her, couldn’t find herself able to answer that question.

Branwen had been out of their sights for hours now. If they hadn’t found him by this point, that probably meant they likely weren’t going to find him at all.

What could they do in that case -- wait until the brooch surfaced on the black market?

Who knew how long that would take to happen, nor how they’d find out about it, nor even which of Remnant’s handful of often spoken of, but well-hidden black markets it would show up in…

This dead-ended mystery was starting to sound all too familiar to Harriet for her liking…

Harriet didn’t want to give up, though she had no idea what the next best step to take was.

Perhaps they could just return to the kingdom, drop off Mercury at the castle’s prison, and resume their search? It would be better to have the entire team at full capacity, and by the time they did that, Harriet figured she’d be able to use her semblance again.

However, that would just give Branwen more time to get even further away from them, or perhaps even just sell the brooch and be done with it.

Not to mention the fact that even if Harriet’s semblance was working once more, without an idea of where Branwen was going, she’d just be running around aimlessly.

She’d done that on more than one occasion -- it made for not only some good training, but also as one hell of a stress reliever -- but it wasn’t going to help them here.

So there went that plan, and yet the rest of her sibling’s eyes joined Vine’s, turned to her for their next step.

As Harriet struggled for an answer, her ears picked up a sound. 

It was the sound of footsteps -- small in size, quick in their pace, not deft enough to avoid snapping twigs and running into small bushes, but just so enough that there was no resulting crashes or falls.

What’s more interesting were that those footsteps were fast approaching them.

Harriet looked toward the noise’s source, unsure what was to meet her on the other side. 

Seconds later, a man emerged into the clearing. He stood tall and slightly muscular with a mean, angular face and an odd, triangle-like hair style. 

“Guards! Guards!” he called as he approached them. He took a second’s pause to loudly catch his breath. “Br-Branwen,” he continued as air kept puffing in and out of his chest as loudly as a bear’s roar. “The thief Qrow Branwen. W-we have him.”

Harriet’s eyes bulged. 

C-could it really be?

“Are you sure?” Elm asked, beating Harriet to the proverbial punch. Harriet felt her heart start to pump as loudly as the man’s footsteps were just moments ago as she waited for him to catch his breath enough to answer Elm’s question.

After three seconds that felt more like an hour, he answered her.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “My-my boss matched him to the poster.”

Harriet couldn’t believe it -- this was really happening.

“Where is he?” she pressed. 

“L-Lil’ Miss Malachite’s,” he wheezed, pointing a finger in the direction he came. “It’s about a half mile that way. We’ve got him caught.”

Branwen…

By nothing short of pure chance, they were in the exact right in the spot to find someone who had eyes on him.

Lucky them.

While she knew he probably couldn’t have had anything to do with it -- though she’d wished against each and every odd that stood as an obstacle to that possibility that he could have -- she couldn’t help but thank Clover for this.

Harriet looked to her team, all of whom suddenly looked like they had more energy flowing through their veins than they’d had in a while.

She got the feeling she looked that way too.

“You heard him, Ace Ops,” Harriet said, glancing at a sneering Mercury, and shooting a smirk of her own at him. “Let’s move out.” 

Elm picked up Mercury’s form once more and tightened her grip around him as she and Marrow cried out jovially, Vine let loose a small chuckle, and even Harriet couldn’t help but let her smirk dissolve into a grin once she turned away from Mercury. 

They had a lead on Branwen and the brooch.

There was hope still to be had for this tiny piece of their still broken, but loving family.

Suddenly, Harriet wasn’t feeling so tired anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!


	18. Chapter 18

Clover took pride in the fact that in the three hours since he left his tower, he’d proven himself to be rather brave. He actually left the tower itself by freefalling from the top by Kingfisher’s line, let himself trust another person to guide him to the lanterns, and even confronted that same person over their roguish past.

It couldn’t be said that Clover didn’t have good reason to be impressed with himself.

However, as he stood in Lil’ Miss Malachite’s, watching his guide get trapped in place by the rowdiest people Clover had ever seen in his life, he imagined he could be forgiven for forgetting all that bravery he’d built up.

Everything was so dark, and everyone was so loud, their voices only slightly blurred by the sound of Clover’s heart all but pounding ceaselessly right in his ears with the force of a falling dictionary.

Damn it, Qrow!

What was he thinking, taking them to this place? 

Clover imagined Qrow probably thought he could get him to back out of their deal and give him his satchel back by showing him the exact types of people he confessed to fearing most. Well, the joke was on him, because as soon as Clover picked up on that notion, he made it clear to Qrow that he had another thing coming!

But then Qrow brought up a frustratingly good point -- there were sure to be a lot of other people in the capital that acted like these miscreants did. If he couldn’t handle them here in a small little tavern, what would he do then when he was in the larger town?

It was an admittedly good question, one Clover couldn’t really think about before Qrow was captured and Clover was left to fend for himself.

Either way though, one thing was for certain -- Qrow was a jerk.

However, he was also a jerk who knew his way to the lanterns. Clover knew he meant what he told Qrow: He wasn’t going home without seeing them, no matter what. 

Besides, though Qrow was a jerk and a thief -- or rather, a bandit, as he claimed -- the sight before him didn’t feel right.

Clover had overpowered Qrow plenty of times today, both physically through his capture and mentally through his hidden satchel and deduction skills. However, for as many times as he defeated Qrow in just that short window of time, Qrow had never made an expression that was anything like what he currently sported. 

As Qrow tried to wrestle out of the tight hold imposed on him, there was a helplessness in his eyes, a lack of hope that complemented the sparks of fear that overran his face. It was nothing like the Qrow he’d spent the past few hours with -- instead, one filled with panic that felt cruelly unnatural.

Even outside of his desire to see the lanterns, Clover couldn’t let whatever was causing an expression like that go on.

No, he had to do something.

Raven seemed to have an idea, signaling her view on what they should do by giving Clover’s collar a loose tug towards the door that led out of the tavern.

To that, Clover shot her a deadpan look.

Honestly…

“We’re not leaving him here, Raven,” Clover stated, his tone frank and definite.

Birds couldn’t roll their eyes, but Raven all the same communicated the sensation without even doing it just before letting go of Clover’s collar.

Clover looked at the sight before him. 

People were surrounding the kerfuffle being created by Qrow and his captors. Among the many others in attendance, the group that approached Clover when he first entered the tavern were there.

However, while they were absolutely interested in seeing what was going down, they didn’t seem that excited, or even happy about it.

It made them seem so tired, so resigned, so different than what they were like when he first met them.

In fact, looking around the room, Clover could see that no one really appeared in favor of what was happening, not even the woman -- Robyn, he believed her name was -- who led the group who captured Qrow, nor anyone in that group itself.

Weren’t they at least going to get a reward for this, judging by what their boss said? Shouldn’t that have made them just a little more sold on the task at hand? 

Clover had to admit, the attitudes towards such an order even in the face of payment seemed a far cry than what Uncle Tyrian had taught him to expect from situations like these. 

Then again, Qrow didn’t have a lucky semblance. He supposed there was more empathy his fellow humans were willing to give those who didn’t have so tantalizing a prize within them.

However, as resigned as he was to think about how he was just an exception to this new revelation, Clover had a thought that he chose to focus on instead: Maybe, he could use the reluctance of those around him to get himself and Qrow out of this mess.

It wasn’t going to be easy, and he had no idea how he was going to pull it off, but he also knew he was going to try anyways.

Looking ahead, Clover surveyed his options for those to recruit for help. He couldn’t tell anything about most of the tavern’s other patrons, but some stood out, namely the group he and Qrow ran into when they first came into the place.

Well, they did want to talk to him…

They looked calmer than they did initially now, but all the same, Clover had only talked to Qrow and Raven since he’d left the tower. Raven was his friend and in addition to the advantages and leverage he held over the latter, Qrow proved quickly to not be dangerous -- a jerk, yes, but not a dangerous one. These guys were going to be different. Not only did he not know them -- and what he did know of them was...a lot to handle, but he was in their territory, and there were four of them against himself and Raven. 

Clover gave a glance Qrow’s way -- reminding himself of both his moral and selfish obligation to end this -- and made his way over to the group. 

With their attention towards Qrow and his captors, the group paid Clover no mind as he approached. That worked out well enough for Clover, who was still trying to figure out just how to initiate this conversation. 

Everything that came to mind sounded so stupid. Why would they help him of all people? On top of barely talking to him, he was just some random guy who ran away from them -- he wasn’t sure he’d be so inclined to help himself either after that. And it’s not like he had anything to offer them for their help apart from maybe a good recipe for bread rolls.

He couldn’t do this. Qrow was going to go to jail, and he was going to lose out on his dream forever.

Could he even navigate himself home from here? It wasn’t like anyone could help him, and sure, he put a few landmarks to memory, but that was only going to get him so far.

Uncle Tyrian was right. He never had a chance of surviving outside of the tower on his own.

So much for his bravery…

Suddenly, someone moving from across the bar accidentally pushed Clover to the side, inadvertently knocking him right into one of the group member’s backs. Clover backed away quickly, but the damage had already been done.

Upon being hit, the group member jumped in place, letting out a shapeless exclamation before slowly turning around.

It was the girl from earlier...the especially loud one…

Clover was pretty sure her name was Nora.

“Ooh!” she said upon recognizing him. “Look, guys! It’s that weird stranger from earlier!”

Immediately, the rest of her friends’ turned around to face him.

Clover knew having the group’s eyes on him was something he should have expected if he wanted to enlist their help, but it didn’t make the actuality of it happening any less scary than it was.

Gods, what he would give for some water right now.

Looks like whether he wanted it or not, that very bravery Clover was about to abandon was going to be thrust upon him.

Lucky him...

“Hi,” Clover squeaked. 

He waited for a second, hoping one of them was going to say something.

None of them said anything.

Where were the chatterboxes he’d encountered when he first came in here?

Damn it.

“Look, I need your help,” he said, suddenly finding himself able to speak quite a lot, probably as compensation for how quiet they were. “My name is Clover and that guy they have bound up is my guide and I know he’s a thief or a bandit or whatever and it’s going to be really, really hard to save him with all those people in the way trying to get that reward, but I need him to take me to see the lanterns tomorrow because I’ve been dreaming about them my whole life and this is going to be the one chance I’ll ever have to see them up close and in person. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a dream like that, but this one means everything to me, so will you please help me?” Upon finishing, Clover took a deep breath. He was pretty sure he’d picked up the speed speaking, but he got the sense that he got a lot faster than even he thought he did.

Well, at least he didn’t mumble…

Uncle Tyrian could at least be proud of him for that...once he got over every other rule Clover broke today.

For a moment, none of the four of them said anything. 

Clover bit his lip. Had he said too much? Did they, in fact, ever have dreams like that? Were dreams even valued by those outside the tower, or was Clover an anomaly in that regard, only admiring them because they were some of the very few things he had to get himself through the lull of repetitive days and years?

The group’s other girl -- Pyrrha, if Clover recalled correctly -- let out a somewhat despondent sigh. 

“We know about dreams,” she said. “We’ve been fighting for ours for years now.”

“But to no luck,” one of the boys -- Ren, Clover was pretty sure -- added.

“W-what’s your dream?” The question left Clover’s mouth before he could even think about it, but he dared not take it back, somewhat because he still didn’t know what to make of this group, but mostly because that question allowed him to pursue an opportunity to experience something that didn’t come by his way that often -- someone else talking about their dreams.

Uncle Tyrian had talked about his dreams a bit -- for Clover to remain safe and happy in the tower for all of his days while he took care of him or for a world that didn’t care about semblances -- but it was always so vague and in the former case, it was a dream that they were actually living.

But to hear someone else, and not just one other but four others talk about their unfulfilled dreams was something Clover never knew he wanted until it was something he had the chance to hear for himself.

“We want to defend Remnant from evil!” Nora called out, raising a large hammer in her hand. Quickly, Clover backed away, intimidated by its size.

Uncle Tyrain wasn’t wrong when he spoke of the weapons of those outside the tower. The hammer that Nora held in her hands could probably separate a man’s head from his shoulders, and Clover needed both of those things intact.

However, while Nora raised her hammer, she didn’t attempt to hurt Clover, nor anyone else with it. She was just kind of showing it off before settling its head back on the ground a few moments later and balancing her hands on the base of the handle. Clover had to admit that once his shock had worn off, she looked like a hero from a book yielding such a behemoth. The other’s weapons, still in their sheaths, looked great as well.

Fighting evil, huh?

“That sounds amazing,” Clover said, unable and unwilling to prevent the smile on his face from growing.

“But the only problem is that the royal guard doesn’t consider us ‘couth’ or ‘soldierly’ enough to fight alongside them,” the final member of the group, Jaune, sadly interjected. 

“Even though we’ve got the fighting chops,” Nora countered.

“And the desire to help,” Pyrrha added.

In all fairness to their group, the royal guard -- whoever they were -- weren’t entirely wrong. This team that he’d seen in just those short moments they’d interacted with was unabashedly loud, eccentric, and definitely didn’t look all that interested in following rules. No, they just looked like they wanted to do good for the world as they saw fit.

Clover admired that, and right now, that kind of attitude he needed in abundance to fulfill his dreams.

Perhaps it was the attitude that best suited them towards their own dreams, as well.

“Well,” Clover said, “can’t you just fight without them?”

“Fight without the royal guard?” Jaune repeated. 

“No one’s fought outside the purview of the general before,” Ren said.

Clover shrugged. “Is there any reason why you can’t be the first? You already have a team, you said yourselves that you’re willing to face evil, and if you’re as good as you say you are -- and with weapons like that, I’d bet you are -- then there’s no reason you shouldn’t be allowed to be heroes of Remnant in your own right! And if the royal guard doesn’t want you, well, then that’s their loss, right?”

Jaune released a hum, followed by Pyrrha, followed by Nora, followed by Ren.

In front of Clover, the group exchanged looks with each other, their frowns slowly rising until they became smiles.

“He’s right, you know,” Pyrrha said, waving an agreeing hand . 

“There’s nothing illegal about it, after all,” Ren supplemented. 

“General Ironwood’s not going to be happy about it,” Jaune said, all the while sporting a smirk that all but shouted how little he cared about that.

“Well,” Nora replied, shooting her friend a knowing smirk, “then he needs to write some better laws in the future because the Juniper Jaggers aren’t about to let anyone tell them ‘no’ so easily anymore!”

Jaune, Pyrrha, and Ren gave a holler, and even though he didn’t join in, Clover could feel his cheeks pinch from how big he was grinning. 

Everyone then turned to Clover, and this time, he didn’t feel intimidated by the action.

“So,” Nora continued. “How about in return for reviving our dream, we make our first mission helping you save yours?”

Clover smirked. “To that, I’d say, ‘what do you have in mind?’” 

Nora signaled for Clover and her teammates to look at Lil’ Miss Malachite, who was presently looking at Qrow with a greedy, sinister gaze. 

“Robyn and her team aren’t bad, they’re just following their boss’ orders, but without her, they’ll change their tune quickly enough,” Nora said. “If we can get her away from them and Qrow, then we can unleash our secret weapon and get him free.”

“Secret weapon?” Clover asked. 

In truth, he was eager to hear about how the Juniper Jaggers would fight them off. 

Did they have a team attack? Did they have an ancient trinket or a powerful weapon to exchange for Qrow’s freedom?

“Yup. You.”

Clover blinked.

There is no way he heard that correctly.

“I’m sorry. What?” Clover questioned, begging to the Gods and his semblance alike that he misheard what she’d said.

“You were able to convince us to help you,” Jaune said. “No reason why you can’t do it with everyone else.”

That begging apparently went unheard.

Stupid semblance.

Stammering, Clover tried to come up with an objection. 

“I-I can’t-”

“Sure you can!” Pyrrha said, waving a dismissive hand. “Just talk to them! They’re more receptive and kinder than they look.”

“But you guys know them be-”

“They’re not going to listen to us,” Ren said, interrupting him, though blushing immediately afterwards while whispering an apology.

“For some reason, they think we’re annoying, so they just drown out whatever we say,” Jaune explained.

“But you’re new and interesting!” Nora countered.

“And you haven’t worn people out yet,” Ren added.

“Not to mention, you’re kind of good looking with those muscles of yours,” Jaune admitted.

“And you’ve got a good heart,” Pyrrha finished off.

“Guys,” Clover protested. “I could barely talk to you. I almost wasn’t going to until I got pushed into Nora.”

“But even though you were scared, you did,” Ren pointed out.

“You’re braver than you think you are,” Pyrrha promised.

“And you’ve got what it takes to fulfill your dream,” Jaune said.

“So what do you say?” Nora asked. 

Well, it was either do this or lose his dream.

There wasn’t much of a choice to be made, and just like the Juniper Jaggers, Clover wasn’t about to let the world tell him ‘no’ so easily anymore.

His resolve didn’t make the deep breath he took any less shaky, but he nodded all the same.

“Let’s do this,” Clover said, however uneasily.

The team nodded at him before bringing him in close and telling him how they’d distract Lil’ Miss Malachite, as well as how much time they theorized Clover had to work with before the guards arrived.

It was going to be hard -- Clover would dare say impossible.

But he had already done a few things today he never thought would be possible for him. What was one more?

In any event, for whatever bravery Clover either had prior to or garnered today, he knew now that it was about to be put to the ultimate test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the late upload! This chapter was REALLY hard for me, but I wanted to make sure it delivered well enough, so thank you so much for your patience! I hope you enjoy!

After years of shenanigans resulting from his banditry, Qrow Branwen had started to believe that he’d seen just about everything the world had to offer.

After finding himself tied up in a metallic fishing line by a barefoot, awkward, muscle-y man, Qrow figured that now he’d seen just about everything the world had to offer.  
  


However, while he’d had shudder-inducing daydreams about them, one thing that he supposed he hadn’t seen yet was the insides of a prison cell.

Now though, as he struggled helplessly in the clutches of Robyn Hill’s team at Lil’ Miss Malachite’s with guards due to arrive at his location any minute now, Qrow suspected he was about to finally, definitively, see everything the world had to offer him.

Somehow, between the grunts and protests for his freedom, he was able to contain his excitement.

He felt like he was going to be sick, and not just as a result of the tightness of his limbs in the ladies’ clutches.

This couldn’t be happening -- not now, not when he was so close to getting everything he’d ever wanted, or at least the money needed to do so.

But the royal guard -- likely even the Ace Ops themselves -- were on their way here, and trapped, there was nothing he could do about that.

Well, at least he’d probably seen everything a free life had to offer…maybe...

Qrow looked over at Lil’ Miss Malachite as she sat on the other end of the tavern, content to watch him hopelessly struggle against his captors. She was getting such a kick out of this, a pearly white smirk plastered onto her face like ale to the insides of a keg.

Maybe that’s not what he should’ve been thinking about at that moment, but with the stench of ale covering every surface of Lil' Miss Malachite’s, it was almost instinctual.   
  


He had to get out of here, preferably with his freedom intact.

“Look!” Qrow tried to call out to Lil’ Miss Malachite. “I can pay you back -- with interest, even! I just need a few more days to get the money together!” However, Qrow knew his words were either drowned out by the rest of the tavern’s occupants or devoid of any reason to believe them, slipped off her ears like water down a roof.

Well...it was worth a shot.

Qrow attempted to find Clover in the crowd again, but to no luck. With the front door secured behind Sun, the poor guy was probably in some corner of the tavern hiding. In truth, Qrow felt bad about that. If he’d known how badly this was going to turn out...well, of course, he wouldn’t have gone in to save his own skin, but he wouldn’t have gone in either to save Clover the pain of having to witness this either.

Looks like this day wasn’t going to work out for either of them.

At least Clover had that bird of his to keep him company. Raven may have been a stubborn pigeon, but at least she would look out for him.

Suddenly, Qrow, pulled from his thoughts, noticed a flash of ginger hair quickly approaching Lil’ Miss Malachite.

It didn’t take long for Qrow to tell that it was Nora who was going to speak with her. Nora was a presence hard to forget, despite Qrow’s occasional attempts to do so when she and her friends were too annoying. Once she got over to Lil’ Miss Malachite, she started waving her arms around, yelling all the while about some commotion outside the tavern. Her hands pointed in the direction of the back of the restaurant, and though Lil’ Miss Malachite clearly wasn’t at all thrilled to hear whatever it was Nora had to say, she soon sighed, apparently relenting to whatever it was Nora wanted her to do.

“Robyn!” she called out. “I need to go out back for a moment. Don’t let Branwen out of your sight until the guards show up and that gold’s in your hands and counted! You understand?”

“Yes, boss,” Robyn mumbled as Lil’ Miss Malachite rose from her chair and followed Nora. 

Qrow turned to Robyn, who while still looking at his form just to make sure he couldn’t escape, couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Sorry, Qrow.”

At his current situation and her apology, Qrow found himself at an utter loss as to what to say. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t get that she had to do what she had to do...but Gods, why did it have to come at his expense?

That was just the way the world worked, he supposed. 

Feeling that his struggling was getting him nowhere, Qrow started to relax his body. 

Who knew what prison had in store for him, especially with Mercury all but guaranteed to be there with him, hotheaded and angry after Qrow’s betrayal? It was probably for the best that he started saving his energy for that reunion.

To best divert his thoughts from that line of thinking, he let his eyes scan the surface of the tavern again for any sign of Clover. He was unsure of whether or not he did so because he wanted to apologize or to just so he could see one more person who wasn’t actively trying to arrest him before he was carted off back to the capital. 

Maybe he could have the best of both worlds and tell Clover to just follow the guards back there.

At least then Clover would get to see the lanterns, and one of them would leave this arrangement happily.

Much to his surprise, he not only found Clover still relatively okay, but found him climbing on top of one of the tavern’s abandoned tables. Clover was shaking slightly, absolutely uneasy with his surroundings, but he balled his fists, appearing to steel his resolve enough to do...whatever it was that he was about to do.

What the hell was he planning?

Clover looked to Raven, said something to her, winked at her, and plugged his ears. 

Oh, Gods no!

If he had to listen to any sound with his last few moments of freedom, he begged for it not to be that one.

But that’s exactly what he heard as Raven let loose one of her now famous-to-him squawks.

He swore to the Gods was going to go deaf from those eventually.

At least then he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore.

As Raven squawked, the entire tavern went quiet as to look for the source of the noise.

When they found it, the bar’s occupants -- even Robyn -- all turned to the very nervous Clover, a mix of annoyance and curiosity on their collective faces. Qrow could relate to the sentiment after dealing with the exact thing for the better part of the day thus far.

What was he up to?

“Hi,” Clover said, so shyly awkwardly, and yet somehow casually that it almost hurt to watch. “So,” he continued, “you have my guide captured over there,” he continued, pointing to Qrow, “and I need him back.” 

Qrow’s jaw hurt from falling as hard as it did.

He couldn’t be trying to talk this out with his captors, could he?

Clover was aware of the crowd he was dealing with, right -- the very same crowd that currently had his arms, legs and surroundings completely covered?

Wasn’t he afraid of miscreants and crooks and the like last time he checked?

Did he get hit over the head by one of them?

Seemingly at everyone in the tavern’s silence, Clover then took a deep breath. 

“Look,” he kept going, “I know your boss wants him for that reward money, and Qrow definitely needs to make things right, but it shouldn’t happen like this, and I need him to guide me to the capital so I can see the lanterns tomorrow. I’m sorry I’m making a big deal about this, but I’ve been dreaming about seeing these lanterns my entire life, and I’m only going to have one chance to ever see them in person. Dreaming of them makes my life worth living, even when it feels like I have no purpose. Those dreams in their own way raised me and let me see the world in a new light. I know I’m just a stranger, and you’re all far more...worldly than I am, but I have to ask, can’t you find your humanity and help us?”

Gods, Clover was really trying to free Qrow like this...

He was done for. 

In the space between Qrow and Clover, Robyn sighed. 

“Look,” she said, “you’re not wrong. I’d rather not capture Qrow like this. At the very least, there are better things my friends and I could do with our time than keep Qrow prisoner, but I’ve got a job to keep, and like the method or not, Qrow’s got to pay for...whatever it was he stole this time. I get that passion about dreams -- how they’re hope incarnate when you feel like you have none -- and I wish I could do something for you, but I can’t help you fulfil your dreams. I can’t even manage to fulfil my own.”

Qrow expected Clover to lose heart, and step down from the table in quiet defeat. He did his best, and he should’ve considered himself lucky that Robyn was in a patient mood with him.

However, Clover didn’t climb down from the table.

“Well, what is your dream?” Clover asked instead.

Robyn’s eyes widened, and Qrow’s followed suit quickly afterwards. 

Oh Gods. In all the time Qrow had known Robyn, she hadn’t talked that much about herself.

And Clover, having known her for ten seconds, expected her to talk about her most personal dreams?

Outside of an abstract sense that everyone had them on some level, Qrow couldn’t even believe that she had dreams at all!

Clover was going to die. That was what was going to happen. He was going to be arrested, and Clover was going to die.

Robyn took a step towards Clover, and then another and another, her gaze as steely as ever. 

“You want to know about my dreams?”

Clover seemed to freeze just a bit. Qrow tried to gesture for him to run with his eyes, but he couldn’t catch his gaze.

“Y-yes,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

She then took another step towards him, her expression unchanged. 

Then something happened that Qrow hadn’t expected. 

In hindsight, when it came to Clover, he should’ve known better than to not expect that by now.

A sigh came from Robyn, but it was one that sounded like she was about to relent.

And as her expression softened, relent was exactly what she did.

“I want to own a restaurant,” she confessed.

Qrow couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. His eyes and ears had to have been replaced at some point during the countless instances of manhandling -- as well as birdhandling -- he’d been subjected to today.

However, as he heard and saw Robyn’s dream announced out loud, he knew none of that was the case.

Words didn’t leave Qrow’s mouth after Robyn’s confession. 

Words didn’t leave Robyn’s mouth after her confession. 

Words didn’t leave anyone’s mouth after her confession -- well, they almost didn’t.

“That’s fantastic!” Clover said. “I love cooking, too. And of course baking is nice, and who can resist hearing about how others feel about your food? To do that every day? It’s a nice way to make a living.”

With the silence broken with Clover’s comment, many of the tavern’s patrons gave the notion of a Robyn-owned restaurant intrigued hums. Qrow couldn’t help but be one of them. She was a good cook, and she practically ran Lil’ Miss Malachite’s already. A version of the place under her management would be at the very least interesting.

It would certainly give Qrow more of an excuse to come by, and once he had the money from that satchel, pay off his tab.

Robyn’s eyes widened, though she looked to try to refocus herself. 

“Guys, I think we all know that dreams don’t get to come true around here a lot,” she reminded all of them.

“I bet you could make this one come true,” Clover casually shot back. “Look -- until three hours ago, I lived my whole life in a tower, just dreaming about what seeing the lanterns would be like! And now here I am with all of you...energetic people, about to live my dream...provided I have my guide with me.” Robyn shot Clover a deadpan look. “What I’m saying is that if I can fight for a dream, then you can too, right? And people seem to like the idea of you having a restaurant.”

“He’s got a point there,” the guy who stood in front of the door, though now only loosely, said. “Trust me, Robyn. I’ve been bussing tables here for years now. People don’t come to this place to see Malachite, and it’s not even the closest or even cheapest place around.”

“Gods know it’s not about the price!” another man interjected.

“See what I mean? They come here for you. You’re the one who looks out for us, hears our problems, offers solutions, mixes the best drinks, memorizes our tabs, makes great appetizers, and so much other stuff. Besides, you’d make a way better boss than she is.”

“Sun’s right,” May added. “And if you owned the place, we could make more money for our village.” 

“Not to mention, have them over for a hot meal every once in a while,” Joanna added.

“And host events!” Fiona chimed in.

Robyn’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out, especially as more of the tavern’s patrons joined in, all adding comments about how much better the bar would be if she was in charge, how the name would be less of a mouthful if it was named after Robyn instead of Lil’ Miss Malachite, and how they’d love to see it converted into a proper restaurant.

Even Qrow, who was still unable to believe that Clover was actually revealing this side of Robyn and not getting killed for trying, found no reason to doubt her. If she wanted to open a restaurant -- and apparently, she really did want to -- she absolutely could.

“G-guys,” Robyn protested. “I’m grateful for the support -- I really am -- and it’s a sweet sentiment, but I can’t pay for a restaurant.”

“Well,” Clover said, “if so many people dislike Lil’ Miss Malachite, why not take over this one?”

“Because it doesn’t belong to m-!”

“Oh, please,” Sun interrupted. “It doesn’t even belong to Malachite. She stole it off of the Violette family years ago. Stealing it back from her would be one hell of a way of advertising the place! I could see it now -- your reputation as a hero who overthrew Lil’ Miss Malachite herself! Ooh! I could do that for you -- run around the capital, telling everyone your story and to visit your restaurant. I’m pretty endearing!”

“I could be your sous chef!” May offered. 

“Dibs on being the hostess!” Fiona called. 

“I’ll handle the interior design!” Joanna said.

Suddenly, the back door flung open. 

“And the Juniper Jaggers would like to offer up our help with security!” Jaune announced. 

Ren and Pyrrha pushed in a chair which held the now bound and gagged Lil’ Miss Malachite. 

“Consider this our team’s resume,” Nora added.

Robyn looked around the tavern, seemingly to check if anyone had any sensible objection to this move. Eventually, her eyes locked with the eyes of the still bound-by-her-teammates Qrow.

Qrow, admittedly incredulously, shrugged. “Seems like you’ve got the demand for it.”

She turned back to Clover, who was grinning brightly. “You have so many people who believe in you. Embrace that and follow your dream!” Robyn stayed silent for a moment, but even with the back of her head now to his face, Qrow could tell that a smile was forming. “I can provide you with good recipes for bread rolls,” Clover cheekily supplied. 

Robyn nodded. “I might just have to take you up on that.” She turned to her teammates and gestured towards Qrow. “Let him go, ladies. We’ve got a mutiny to prepare for and a restaurant to take charge of.”

And just like that, Qrow was lowered to the ground, finally set free.

It felt odd to stand up again, but he’d never felt so grateful to be able to freely.

Clover approached Qrow, with both he and Raven smugly smiling. 

Show offs.

“Great idea for lunch!” Clover said, nudging him with his elbow.

Qrow rolled his eyes jokingly. “Yeah, yeah. It was wrong of me to try to trick you,” he confessed teasingly. “But hey -- at least I got you to face your fears, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Clover replied in a similar manner. “And now we’re one step closer to fulfilling my dream!”

“Which reminds me,” Robyn said, “Qrow, out of curiosity, what’s your dream?”

“No way. I don’t wax poetically about my dreams like you two apparently do.”

Robyn smirked at him and tilted her head backwards. 

“Joanna! May! Fiona!” Robyn called out in a singsong fashion. “Maybe we should capture Qrow again. He’s got that tab he hasn’t paid back yet, plus, the reward will get us some great startup go-!”

“Okay, okay!” Qrow grunted. Robyn, Clover, and Raven immediately started laughing. “I hate you all,” he sneered, albeit only half heartedly. “You really wanna know what my dream is? It’s not all that interesting.”

“Yes, I do, and why don’t we make this a bit more fun, in that case?” Robyn extended her hand to Qrow. “My semblance is raring to go, just to keep you honest.”

“Always one to trust, aren’t you, Robyn?”

“When I’m around someone I can trust,” Robyn answered.

Snorting, Qrow grabbed Robyn’s hand and smirked.

So much of today had been hard, but this? 

No. This was going to be nice and easy.

“Money,” he said. “Enough so I never have to want for anything for the rest of my life.”

Immediately, Robyn, Clover, and Raven shot him unimpressed looks, especially as his hand began to glow green, signifying that he was indeed being truthful with his claim. Qrow expected Clover to comment on her semblance, especially since he likely hasn’t seen many in his life, and he seemed like he wanted to, but he instead said nothing, keeping whatever thoughts he had about it to himself.

What was up with that?

In fact, Clover hadn’t said a word about semblances since they met at all.

Given his unique circumstances, did he even know what semblances were?

Perhaps those were questions that warranted asking. After all, it was now abundantly clear that whether Qrow liked it or not, they were going to spend the next three days together. There was plenty of time to find out about matters like that.

Clover was turning out to be quite the interesting mystery to solve after all, and now, was one that he actually wanted to discover a bit more about.

Robyn turned to Clover. “Clover,” Robyn said, “you’re something special. Qrow...you’re something else. Not something bad...just something else.”

It looked like Robyn was going to say more, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, Jaune, now looking out the front window, interrupted them. 

“Um, guys?” he said. “Cardin’s back on his way.”

“And he’s got company,” Pyrrha added.

“We’ve got to get you two out of here,” Joanna said.

“What are we going to do?” Sun asked. “The guards are coming from the front entrance, and there’s no way they won’t see them leaving through the back entrance. There’s no way out!”

Qrow and Clover turned to Robyn for help coming up with an escape plan.

Fortunately, she seemed to already be one step ahead of them all.

“Well,” Robyn said, “that’s not entirely true. There is another way out.” Robyn looked to Fiona. “Fiona, I don’t feel like ruining the setup of my lovely establishment, so would you do the honors? Personally, I think our bar could stand to be a little...dryer.”

Fiona grinned. “With pleasure, Robyn!” She then jumped up to the bar and waved her hand over the collection of ales and liquors at the back of it. 

Suddenly, the contents she’d waved at all turned transparent just before disappearing all together. From beside him, Qrow could feel Clover’s eyes widen, shocked. 

Robyn and Fiona released a pleased snort, especially as they all heard Lil’ Miss Malachite’s muffled angry protests in the background.

“Fiona’s got one hell of a semblance,” Qrow said, attempting to explain it, “can practically hide away a circus with it.”

“It’s impressive,” Clover said. However, once more, he left it at that.

Robyn was certainly right about Clover -- he was indeed something special.

They looked to where the tavern’s alcohol collection was, only to now see just a door on the floor.

“Even the boss -- or rather, former boss -- doesn’t know about this one,” Robyn bragged. “Follow this all the way through and you should be in the clear, provided you can stay out of trouble.”

Qrow shrugged, smirking as he climbed down the small ladder below the door. “No promises.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I’ll try to keep him out of trouble,” Clover promised for him as he followed Qrow’s lead.

Jeez, how did he end up traveling with such a good goody two shoes?

Or rather, a goody goody no shoes?

Qrow had to try that nickname out on Clover at some point. He’d certainly get a kick out of it.

Robyn hummed, looking at Clover. “ It’s a good thing he’ll have you then. Hell, maybe you’ll be just what he needs to shape up.”

Clover smiled appreciatively at the comment. 

Qrow snorted.

“I think you know me well enough by now to know that’s not happening,” he said.

Smirking at the two of them, Robyn shrugged.

“We’ll see about that.”

Robyn’s eyes traveled over to Clover before shooting back to Qrow with a knowing, suggestive smirk. She’d done that in the past when trying to set him up with other patrons that she thought would be good for him, but she’d never done it while the target of her set up stood so close to him. 

Gods, she was so embarrassing!

Qrow, having no idea how to respond to that, simply blushed. He prayed Clover hadn’t seen either the look Robyn gave Qrow or his reaction to it, and thankfully, Clover seemed too preoccupied waving at and sending well wishes to his new friends to notice.

“Okay, you guys, this is it,” Robyn said, gesturing for them to go deeper down the tavern’s secret passageway. “Clover, go get your dreams. Qrow...get better dreams.”

Qrow groaned. “Ughh. Can we get on with this? I don’t feel like getting arrested today.”

Robyn waved them off, closing the door behind them. Seconds after the door closed, Qrow could hear a thumping noise, signifying that the tavern’s concealed entrance had been covered once more.

Right beside them, there was a small lantern with a match inside it. Qrow lit it and started walking deeper into the tunnel, with Clover following closely behind.

Well, an entire bar won over by a conversation about dreams and a trek down a secret passageway weren’t things Qrow expected to see today, or ever for that matter.

Then again, Qrow was starting to suspect that, especially with his new traveling companion, there were a lot of things in life that he hadn’t seen yet, and maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS OUT-OF-UNIVERSE CHAPTER!!!!
> 
> Clover and the miscreants at Lil' Miss Malachite's sing about the dreams they've almost given up on, and discover that with the help and inspiration of each other, it might not be too late to fulfill them!
> 
> (Remixed lyrics to "I've Got a Dream!")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

**I’VE GOT A DREAM**

**_Nora:_ ** _ We’re loud, proud, and bombastic _

**_Ren:_ ** _ Nora’s physics are elastic _

**_Jaune:_ ** _ Sometimes our actions get a bit out of hand _

**_Pyrrha:_ ** _ And though we don’t have lots of poise _

**_Ren:_ ** _ And we make far too much noise _

**_JNPR:_ ** _ We want to be the heroes of this land _

**_Jaune:_ ** _ Can’t you see us raising weapons against evil? _

**_Nora:_ ** _ Fighting lots of baddies as a team? _

**_Ren:_ ** _ Sure, we could be more polite _

**_Pyrrha:_ ** _ But we still wanna do what’s right _

**_JNPR:_ ** _ Cause way down deep inside we’ve got a dream _

_ We’ve got a dream _

_ We’ve got a dream _

_ Together, we can be much more than we seem _

_ So now, inspired by you _

_ We will make our wish come true _

_ Cause like our brand new friend, we’ve got a dream _

**_Robyn:_ ** _ Look, bud I know you mean well _

_ But this world can be a real hell _

_ Seldom can we ever get what we want _

_ I know dreams matter to you _

_ And they matter to me, too _

_ Like my dream where I own my own restaurant _

_ Yes, I wish I could be in charge of this tavern _

_ And overtake my boss’ cruel regime _

**_Fiona:_ ** _ You know this guy’s got a point _

**_May:_ ** _ Yeah, you oughta run this joint _

**_Miscreants:_ ** _ Come on, Robyn, go after your dream _

_ Follow your dream  _

_ Follow your dream _

**_Clover:_ ** _ It looks like this idea’s picking up some steam _

**_Robyn:_ ** _ Guys, this plan cannot exist _

**_Fiona:_ ** _ But we’ll all chip in and assist _

**_Miscreants:_ ** _ Trust us Robyn, we’ll help with your dream _

**_Joanna:_ ** _ May would like to join us as a sous chef  _

**_May:_ ** _ Fiona would love welcoming our guests _

**_Sun:_ ** _ Joanna accessorizes _

**_Fiona:_ ** _ And Sun Wukong advertises _

**_Miscreants:_ ** _ Neptune waits _

_ Fox serves the booze _

_ Velvet writes us great reviews _

**_Nora:_ ** _ And the Jaggers will provide security _

**Robyn:** Qrow, what are your dreams?

**Qrow:** Yeah, I don’t talk about my dreams.

**Robyn:** Oh gi-i-rls!

**_Qrow:_ ** _ I have dreams, of course -- don’t we all? _

_ In them, I have a real ball _

_ I never have to worry, I can get by _

_ Away from the royal guard _

_ Life will no longer be hard _

_ With piles of money higher than the sky _

**_Clover:_ ** _ I’ve got a dream  _

**_Miscreants:_ ** _ He’s got a dream _

**_Clover:_ ** _ It makes me beam _

**_Miscreants:_ ** _ He’s got a dream _

**_Clover:_ ** _ At last I will see those bright green lanterns gleam _

_ Leaving my tower is great _

_ Turns out I can communicate _

_ And tell all my new friends about my dream _

**_Miscreants:_ ** _ He's got a dream _

_ He's got a dream _

_ They’ve got a dream _

_ We've got a dream _

_ So I guess it’s time to enact our new scheme _

_ Yes, so we deem _

**_Robyn:_ ** _ Call us weirdos _

**_Fiona:_ ** _ Crooks _

**_May:_ ** _ Unruly _

**_Clover:_ ** _ But sweethearts are you all truly _

_ And way down deep inside you’ve got a dream _

**_Miscreants + Clover:_ ** _ I've got a dream _

_ I've got a dream _

_ I've got a dream _

_ I've got a dream _

_ I've got a dream _

_ I've got a dream _

_ Yes, way down deep inside, we've got a dream _

_ Yeah! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! I hope you enjoy it, too!

Mercury Black had had a long day, and at this point, all he wanted was for it to be over already.

The theft of General Ironwood’s brooch had been nothing short of a pain in the ass, both as he distracted the pathetic masses and guards alike with his fire-powered boots and ran to catch his frustratingly quick accomplice before he made off with what was supposed to be their treasure.

Or rather, it was supposed to be his treasure, once he betrayed Qrow Branwen, that is, and took it for himself.

But that’s not what happened.

He got away. He got away, and what’s worse was that Mercury practically gave him the escape.

How could he have been so short sighted? Branwen clearly wasn’t, and he was definitely a better thief than him.

All the same though, it was Branwen who got away, and not him.

No, his suffering had only begun at Branwen’s betrayal.

Getting caught was so, so much worse. 

Mercury had tried to get away, but those damn Ace Ops knew how to work together too damn well, and even without their leader’s semblance at their disposal, they still had every aspect of his capture covered with next to no trouble.

He was all but dead in the water once Marrow got close enough to him to use his semblance. That semblance slowed him to a crawl the instant it made contact with Mercury. From there, Vine’s semblance-fueled arms stretched out all the way to him, and surrounded Mercury’s body before pulling him towards the rest of his team. 

And finally...it was Elm’s turn with him. 

There were worse ways to be careened around a forest than in his captor’s arm, bound as if he were hugged from behind.

That list wasn’t very long though.

Elm’s semblance allowed her to stabilize herself at any time, regardless of any resistance she might meet...or rather, regardless of any resistance Mercury attempted to put up in order to fight out of her grasp.

That was the way they’d walked for the past few hours, or at least, she walked. Elm, by her own admission later, intentionally held Mercury’s body in a way that left his feet just inches off the ground, leaving him helpless to walk alongside her as they walked through the forest. No, instead, he had to be carried at his waist like an unruly child, unable to do anything but complain.

Because of that, he made sure to complain a lot.

Maybe, just maybe, that complaining would annoy the Ace Ops enough for them to decide it wasn’t worth it to keep him and let him go. With all the time Mercury had at his disposal while the Ace Ops continued to search for Branwen -- added to the fact that he didn’t even have the brooch anymore -- it was certainly possible.

However, that didn’t happen, and in this awkward way he and Elm continued to travel.

Stubborn guards.

Mercury supposed he’d better start getting used to stubborn guards. Soon enough, they were all he was going to see.

Well, at least he’d get fed and sheltered in prison, not to mention away from some certain...uncomfortable presences currently plaguing his life. Maybe there was something to be said for that.

Based on the limited knowledge that Mercury had about the forest, assuming there’d be no more breaks to scope out the nearby areas, it would take another few hours to return to the kingdom’s capital. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to that -- being paraded through the capital as a prisoner, held in Elm’s clutches and unable to even shield his face while getting laughed at by Remnant’s citizens as he witnessed the last glimpses of a free life he’d likely ever see.

Gods, couldn’t this day just be over already?

It seemed like it was going to be soon, now that Branwen had appeared to have completely escaped and Harriet seemed to be without a plan as to what to do next.

But then Cardin showed up.

Mercury knew Cardin, albeit only in passing. He’d gone to his boss’ pub a few times for a post-heist ale on more than one occasion, and Cardin was a busboy there. Cardin had a mean demeanor about hime, one that was likely created to try to compensate for his lack of strength relative to everyone else at that tavern, but instead just made people hate him and notice his cowardice all the more.

It was curious to see him all the way out here, especially still in his uniform from work.

However, once he spoke, it became clear why.

“Br-Branwen,” Cardin said through laborious breaths. “The thief Qrow Branwen. W-we have him.”

Well, that was unexpected, and peculiar for more than one reason. 

As Cardin continued to confirm for everyone present that it was indeed Qrow Branwen who they had, Mercury tried to make sense of how that had happened. 

Branwen wasn’t the type to stop for an ale in the middle of a heist, especially not with one of Remnant’s most valuable treasures in hand. And even if he did for some reason Mercury couldn’t so much as hazard a guess at, Lil’ Miss Malachite’s was in the other direction from the nearest black market, and despite how fast Branwen had proven himself to be, there’s no way he’d be able to get to the black market, sell the brooch to the highest bidder, and then back to Malachite’s in that amount of time. It just wasn’t possible.

So why had he gone backwards from his destination?

If the Ace Ops -- or Ace Oops, as he had now taken it upon himself to call them in a further attempt to annoy his way to freedom -- actually managed to capture Branwen, he’d certainly have to ask him...in between beating the crap out of him for causing all of his torment today.

With Cardin’s lead, the Ace Ops -- and by extension, Mercury -- were on the move again. Upon seeing Mercury’s...unique means of travel, Cadrin walking beside Elm, snickered.

“Shut. Up,” Mercury grit.

“Or what?” Cardin mocked. “You seem a little too indisposed with your cuddling to do anything about it right now!” He proceeded to laugh his head off.

Mercury seethed on the comment, but before he could bark out another threat, Elm sighed, glaring at Cardin.

“Less talking, more walking, okay?” she ordered, clearly just as annoyed with Cardin’s comments, and voice, and...everything as Mercury was.

It seemed to do the trick, effectively shutting Cardin up the rest of the way to Malachite’s.

Mercury had plenty of problems with Elm, not the least of which was her style of holding him -- though he supposed it could have been worse seeing as how he wasn’t plopped over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes -- but he had to admit that he appreciated her stopping that mocking.

That seemed to be the only thing that had gone right for Mercury today, and after everything that had happened and was sure to happen, he could appreciate that just a little.

Once they arrived at Lil’ Miss Malachite’s, Harriet looped her horse around the neighboring horse post, and signaled for Elm to wait outside with Mercury until she received further orders. As the minutes continued to pass and pass, Mercury found himself curious. 

If the staff at Lil’ Miss Malachite’s had Branwen like Cardin said they had, then why hadn’t the Ace Ops brought him out yet? Why hadn’t Mercury heard so much as a bit of Branwen’s voice? He heard everyone else’s just fine -- the other Ace Ops, Robyn, Sun, and the Juniper Jaggers were all coming in as clear as day, even through the closed door.

However, there was no sign of Branwen.

Mercury was pretty sure even Elm had picked up on that, as he could feel a certain rise of tension in her grasp and abs.

Suddenly, the door flung open, with Harriet on the other side.

“Brawen got away,” she grunted. 

“He escaped through a hidden tunnel in the bar,” Marrow supplied. “It was actually a little cool.”

“Marrow,” Vine scolded.

“It was!” Marrow defended, “But whatever -- we’ve got to go after him!”

Harriet nodded at him before turning back to Elm. “Elm, chain the prisoner up to the horse post. I’m going to need your help to capture Branwen.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Mercury howled, trying once more to pull against his restraints. Still, Elm’s grasp remained as relentless as ever.

Harriet snorted. “Afraid not, thief.” She walked over to her horse, took a set of chains out of his saddle bag, and gave them to Elm. Elm then carried Mercury over to a nearby horse post just across from the tavern’s entrance. 

Mercury loudly groaned upon feeling the cool, harsh metal bind themselves to his wrists, one after the other just after the chain that connected them was looped through the open piece of the metallic horse post. 

Grimacing, he looked at his new situation.

On one hand, he could finally move around a bit more, no longer contained to just Elm’s clutches and finally able to walk now that his feet were on the ground again.

On the other hand, this may have been worse.

Mercury was so close to his freedom, but the metal of both his chains and the horse post stood as quite the barrier between the two of them.

Jeez, even Harriet’s horse was only bound to the post by rope -- not metal!

Did he seriously get more restrictions placed on him than a horse?

How was this his life right now?

“Don’t worry,” Elm teased, a chuckle under her breath as she pat Mercury’s shoulder. “You’ll just be here for a few hours. Then it’s off to the kingdom’s prison!”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Mercury sneered.

“I’ll leave that interpretation to you.”

Elm then casually ruffled Mercury’s hair before walking towards Malachite’s entrance, her body moving away just in time to perfectly avoid Mercury flailing head attempting to hit her. She seemed amused with herself at that development, still chuckling as she joined up with her team.

Great. Now on top of everything, his hair looked like a disaster, and without the free use of his hands, he could only do so much to fix it.

Mercury could, even without seeing his reflection, feel it -- so messy and unkempt, just like his former accomplice’s locks.

“Branwen!” he shouted out in frustration.

No one responded to his cry -- not that Mercury expected anyone to, given that he was supposedly gone. Instead, Mercury just heard the jovial sounds coming from the bar he stood outside of, muffled through the tavern’s closed door.

Oh yeah, and how could he forget? He wasn’t just chained up -- he was chained up right outside of Lil’ Miss Malachite’s, too, and in broad daylight, no less.

So now he didn’t even have the dignity of the relative privacy he received while traveling as the Ace Ops’ prisoner. People -- people Mercury knew and had a reputation with -- would see him helplessly chained up, and given how word tended to spread in this kingdom, it wouldn’t be long before everyone in the capital knew of this as well.

How much more humiliating could this day possibly get?

If the Ace Ops didn’t get to do the honors first, he was going to kill Branwen for this personally.

...And then move somewhere where absolutely no one knew him.

...And then change his name, too, for good measure.

“Mercury,” a man’s voice called out from behind him.

Surprised, Mercury jumped in place, ever so slightly. He’d hoped whoever was behind him wouldn’t have noticed, but given how the rest of his day had gone so far, he didn’t hold his breath.

Mercury tried to turn around to see his new guest as best as he could, and succeeded, if only a little, giving him a half view of the man behind him. 

That turned out to be all he needed, for upon turning around and seeing him, however poorly, Mercury realized that he recognized the man -- Tyrian, he believed. Yes, Tyrian. He was hard to mistake for anyone else -- lanky in his build, but by no means weak, adorned in white clothes, sporting a scorpion’s tail, and hosting eyes that all but promised a trouble that he could no doubt deliver on if he so desired. 

What was he doing here?

“Tyrian? You’re one of Salem’s minions, aren’t you?”

Whatever was the right thing to say to Tyrian, Mercury soon learned it wasn’t that.

“I’m more than just her minion, boy,” Tyrian sneered.

“Well, you’re not Cinder.”

“For now, at least,” Tyrian muttered underneath his breath.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Mercury mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

Tyrian made a ‘tsk’ noise, giving Mercury an unimpressed look. “Don’t mumble. It’s hardly befitting of one of Salem’s men.”

“Well, I’m probably not going to be one of Salem’s men now. As you can see,” Mercury said, flinging his chains as well as he could, “my last mission didn’t exactly work out as expected.”

Tyrian smirked. “Yes, you’re absolutely the epitome of failure right now, aren’t you? Caught by the Ace Ops and with no brooch to speak of. What a stroke of bad luck.” 

Mercury grit his teeth. “Don’t talk to me about bad luck. I’ve had more than enough of that for one day.”

Suddenly, Tyrian’s tail slinked out from behind his back, brandishing its small, yet sharp point at Mercury before it started to move towards him.

Oh Gods...what was he going to do?

Mercury knew Salem didn’t take failure well, and he also knew that poison lived in Tyrian’s tail the same way ale lived in a keg. Was this going to be his punishment for a job poorly done? 

But no, Tyrian didn’t do that, and that didn’t seem to be his intention. Instead, he let his tail slowly move towards the lock of one of his chains, but stopping just short of touching them. 

“Well, then this should come as a pleasant surprise because luckily for you, you’ve caught me in a deal-making mood. I’d like to offer you something for your freedom, as well as my silence to Salem on this little problem of yours for the time being.”

“What’s that?” Mercury asked, unable to keep every last bit of the vulnerability out of his voice.

Tyrian took a step closer to him. “I need you to get the man Qrow Branwen is traveling with away from him. From there, you can just leave the rest to me. Simple, no?”

Mercury grunted. Deals with Salem’s forces always started out easy at first, but they had a habit of never staying that way. He’d been cheated out of untold amounts of gold over the fine print of those little deals, and forced to agree to more just to stay afloat.

Right now though, it looked like he had something of a choice. It couldn’t hurt to push his luck just a bit.

After all, what else did he have to lose?

“And what if I’m not feeling in a deal-making mood myself?” he snipped. 

Tyrian eyes flashed -- as violent as a storm for the briefest of seconds, but then settled, replaced instead by a smirk. Calling it unsettling would be something of an understatement. “Oh I think you’ll find yourself very quickly in a deal-making mood, unless you wish for me to tell Salem of your failure to grab that brooch.” Immediately, Mercury’s eyes bulged. 

“I don’t think I need to tell you that she’ll be...less than pleased to hear that news,” Tyrian continued. “And let’s be honest -- not even the guards and the prison cells in the capital will be enough to protect you from whatever retaliation our goddess will see fit to bestow upon you for such weakness.”

Mercury felt his blood freeze. Gods, damn it.

“Besides, Tyrian added, “you’ll get more than just your freedom and my silence out of this little exchange of ours.” 

“Oh?” Mercury asked.

Grinning, Tyrian grabbed his satchel and took out something Mercury hadn’t expected to see again any time soon. “If you do this, you’ll get this back,” he said, flashing the emerald brooch in front of Mercury in the same way a wealthy man might flash a crust of bread at a starving beggar. “You’ll have an opportunity to redeem yourself in our queen’s eyes, but that’s not all.”

Mercury gulped. “I’m listening,” he said.

Tyrian’s smirk widened. “You’ll also have your chance to get back at the man who took it from you -- Qrow Branwen. Once I have the man he’s traveling with, Branwen is all yours to do with as you see fit. So, I think your choice should be obvious, but I’m not the presumptuous type -- what do you say?”

Unfortunately, Tyrian was right. There was only one thing to say.

And so he said it.

“Deal.”

“Good.” Immediately, Tyrian pushed his tail the rest of the way into the lock of one of Mercury’s chains. Once that one unlocked, he got to quick work on the other.

When they were both undone, Mercury massaged his wrists, taking a deep breath of the open air.

Free.

After this long, lingering, humiliating day, he was finally free.

However, just as Tyrian’s tail had given Mercury his freedom, with a pull of his chin that was sharp in more ways than one, he took it away just as quickly, pulling Mercury towards Tyrian so that he was just under his harsh, wild gaze.

“Don’t forget,” Tyiran added, smiling serenely. “I’ll be watching you very, very closely, even if it doesn’t seem like I am.” Suddenly, Tyrian’s smile dropped, and he began glaring at Mercury. “If you fail to meet your end of our little deal, there won’t be so much as a stone in Remnant you’ll be able to hide under where our goddess won’t be able to find you, you wretch. Understood?”

Mercury felt devoid of all manner of speech, simply nodding. 

“Wonderful,” Tyrian said, his smile blossoming back like a rose. His tail released Mercury, causing him to almost trip.

Then...Tyrian took off, and Mercury was alone, or at least, was as alone as he could be with Tyrian’s promise in mind.

Gods, Mercury didn’t even know where Branwen was, much less who was his traveling companion that Tyrian seemed to care so much about.

What would he do?

What could he do?

Mercury looked at his surrounding, no longer bound to them, but instead able to use them as he saw fit.

And then, he saw what it was he should do.

Well, if he was going after Branwen, he couldn’t just rely on his own foot power. No, Mercury needed a horse, and right now, he had the pick of the litter. He looked at the other options -- a black steed with a gray mane, an orange steed with a cream mane, a chocolate-colored steed with a matching mane -- but quickly decided that none of those would do.

No, it was the horses with a white coat and white mane -- Harriet’s steed, in fact -- that would do the trick.

Not to mention, it would serve as not just a great means of travel, but also as a great means of revenge, both to the Ace Ops and soon enough, to Branwen.

It looked like Mercury was getting a bit of an upgrade. 

Even still though, the work he now faced was anything but enviable.

His long, long day had just gotten a lot longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!! Reviews of every kind are always appreciated, but whether you do or don't, have an awesome day! Remember, Black Lives Matter, Trans Rights are Human Rights, and No Human is Illegal! See you next week!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated, but even if you don't, I hope you all have a great day!


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